Early Sunday evening, July 13, 1947
“She certainly is something,” Alan said, looking at me as we reached the sidewalk out front.
“She certainly is. And she’s a good actress, one of the best.”
“You think that was all an act?”
“Perhaps,” I said. “At least some of it. Let’s have another word with Oliver. I believe he said he was picking up Jasper Crockett, so they may both be at Oliver’s place by now.” I checked my pocket watch. “His apartment is a short walk from here, so we’ll leave my car and go by foot.”
We got to his apartment in the Blackstone in just a few minutes, deciding on the element of surprise and hoping he would be at home. We followed a woman in through the lobby security door and rode up the elevator to the seventh floor.
“Heath! Alan! What are you two doing here?” Oliver said, opening his door shortly after we knocked.
“We have a few more questions. Mind if we come in?”
“Hmm? Oh, sure, come on in. Sorry the place isn’t picked up yet.”
We stepped inside, and I noticed the smell of cigar and cigarette smoke still lingered, though the party was two days past by this point.
“Put your hats on the sideboard. Jasper’s here with his pup. We were just having a drink. Can I get you one?”
“No, thanks. Hello, Mr. Crockett,” I said, nodding to him.
He got to his feet and Pompom followed suit, wagging his tail.
“Hello, Mr. Barrington, Alan. Ollie and I were just talking about the show and what’s going to happen. We would have met in his office at the theater, but you’ve still got us locked out,” Jasper said. He was eating gumdrops from a small bag, washing them down with a bottle of beer on the table next to his chair.
“Yes, sorry about that. Hopefully, it won’t be too much longer before you two can get back inside. We just came from Jazz Monroe’s,” I said.
“Really? I was about to call her,” Oliver said.
“Were you? Why?”
“I was going to ask her to stop over tonight around six, along with the rest of the cast. Well, the remaining cast, that is. That includes you, Alan.”
“What’s it about?” Alan said.
“I just want to run some ideas past everyone, some changes, you know, to keep the show going.”
“Shelby’s not even buried yet, Oliver,” I said.
He sighed heavily and looked uneasy. “I know, I know. I suppose it’s much too soon, but I get antsy just sitting around with nothing to do, you know? Anyway, I was thinking Henry could take over Shelby’s role, and Peter could take over Henry’s role if we can keep him sober. Alan here could take over Peter’s role as the butler. How does that sound?”
“Gee, Mr. Crane, that would be great,” Alan said, beaming in spite of himself.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said. “We don’t even know yet if the show is going to continue.”
“What do you mean? I can make it work,” Oliver said. “It just needs some fine-tuning, is all.”
I glanced at Jasper and Pompom, who had taken their seats again and were watching the three of us. “Is there someplace we can talk in private, Oliver?”
“What about? Jasper and I go back a long way. If you got something to say, you can say it in front of him, right, Jasper?”
“That’s right.” He took a handful of gumdrops again and started popping them one by one into his mouth.
I sighed. “All right. Are you sure you want to make the show work, Oliver?”
“Huh? Why wouldn’t I?”
“The bigger question is, why would you kill Shelby Berkett?” I said point-blank.
Oliver laughed nervously, then stared at me and Alan as if we were crazy. “You’re joking, right? Why, Heath? Why would I want to kill the star of my own show?”
“It seems to me that was my question.”
“That’s nuts. We’ve been over this before. Remember, I’m not only the director but the producer, too. I have a lot of money tied up in Death Comes to Lochwood, a lot of money.”
“I know that, Oliver. And things aren’t going well, are they? Shelby Berkett was turning out to be difficult. He and Jazz were at each other’s throats. Rehearsals had gone poorly, and ticket sales were less than stellar. And you just purchased that expensive television set, probably on credit,” I said, pointing toward the cabinet on the far wall.
“Yes, so what?”
“You took out a life insurance policy on Shelby Berkett, did you not?”
Oliver shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “You know about that, eh? I suppose Jazz told you. Well, yes, of course I did. I have policies on all the major players, including Jazz.”
“I noticed you didn’t want me to see his folder earlier. You copied down the contact information and then put the file away. Did you not want me to know about the policy?”
“It’s not a secret. It’s standard procedure for every production.”
“But you failed to mention it. And with Shelby dead, you stand to collect on that policy and make some money whether or not the show goes on, isn’t that true?”
He started sweating. “I suppose so, yeah, but I didn’t kill Berkett, Heath.”
I paced to the balcony doors next to where Jasper was seated, taking it all in, his light brown eyes huge. I stared down at the street through the smoke-streaked glass and saw a Schuster’s truck parked next door, making a Sunday delivery, and a rags wagon coming slowly up the alley across the street, pulled by a tired-looking mule wearing a straw hat. Life goes on. I turned back to Oliver and Alan. “I’m not sure what to believe yet. But if it turns out you didn’t kill him, someone else in the theater surely did.”
Oliver looked incredulous. “I can’t believe anyone in the cast could do such a thing.”
I looked at Jasper again, now feeding a gumdrop to Pompom. “Maybe it wasn’t someone in the cast.”
“What do you mean?”
“It might have been someone in the crew, someone who hated Shelby Berkett,” I said.
Jasper dropped the gumdrop he was holding and looked up at me, his eyes still large.
“I’m in the crew, Mr. Barrington,” Jasper said as Pompom scarfed up the dropped candy.
“I know that, and you certainly had motive and opportunity, didn’t you? You alone probably hated Shelby more than anyone. Maybe you even sent that telegram. A passive revenge move, knowing it would get him all stirred up and bothered. As someone once told me, you have a way of getting even with people slowly, over time, and you wanted to burst Shelby’s balloon.”
“His balloon needed bursting,” Jasper said.
“Jasper would never harm anyone,” Oliver said, moving closer to him.
“Are you sure, Oliver?”
Jasper set the bag of gumdrops down on the table next to his beer bottle and scratched his little dog behind the ears. “Berkett had a lot of nerve coming back here after all this time. He got what he deserved.” Pompom had started licking his fingers.
“Pompom likes the sugar from the gumdrops,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s got a sweet tooth. He goes crazy for anything with sugar in it,” Oliver said.
“Just don’t give him too much,” I said.
“Oh, I would never do that. As for Berkett, justice has finally been served, but it won’t bring Alex back or fix my leg,” Jasper said, staring up at me.
“Any thoughts on who might have killed him?” I said.
He picked up his beer bottle and took a swig before answering. “No sir. And if I did, I wouldn’t say.”
“Why is that?”
“Because. Just because. That’s reason enough, I figure.”
“All right, fair enough.” I turned back to Oliver. “You mentioned the cast is coming by here tonight. Make certain everyone is here.”
He nodded as he wiped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. “Okay, but what for?”
“Because I want to talk to them and see if we can’t get to the bottom of this.”
Oliver looked pale, even for him. “Sure, I’ll call them right now.”
“Good, good, that’s fine.” I took out my pocket watch once more. “We have a little time yet. Alan and I are going to swing by the police station, but we’ll be back before six. Be sure you two stay right here.”
“Okay, I understand. See you then.”
We got our hats and left, opting to take the stairs down to the lobby instead of waiting for the elevator. Once back outside, we walked briskly back to my car, Alan keeping pace with me.
“What gives, Heath?”
“I want the lab to analyze the key I borrowed from Dick.”
“Analyze it for what?”
“The clay stuck in the ridges.”
“I don’t follow.”
“There are several possibilities. Remember Peter Holloway borrowed Dick’s key ring to move his car Friday night at the party.”
“Right.”
“He might have made a clay impression of that key using the missing makeup putty, and then had a duplicate made.”
“Yes, I remember you saying that before. I saw that in a movie once. Fiendishly clever.”
“Indeed.”
“But you said there were other possibilities.”
“Yes. Shelby himself might have had a duplicate key made.”
“But why would he do that?”
“Maybe the thought of suicide was already on his mind. Maybe he’d already thought it all through and figured on framing Peter or Eve for his suicide by slipping poison into the teapot.”
“Gee, maybe, but that doesn’t seem likely to me. No offense.”
I smiled. “None taken. It doesn’t seem likely to me, either. Just seeing if you were thinking.”
“Hey, I’m always thinking.”
“I know.” I reached over and nudged his shoulder.
“So, what’s the other possibility?”
“Well, Jazz wouldn’t have had to make a clay imprint. She could have made a copy of the actual key since she had access to it. And Dick, Oliver, and Jasper had keys of their own. That leaves Eve, Peter, or Henry who would have needed to use the clay. Any one of them could have slipped into the bedroom at the party and taken the imprint. Remember, Dick had left his key ring on top of the dresser.”
“Oh, right.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“No, I’m not. Not really. It’s just that Mrs. Holloway is such a nice lady, despite what Miss Monroe says, and Hank, well…”
“Right. He’s something.”
“Yeah, he is. But I can’t imagine he’s a murderer, I just can’t.”
“I see.” I stopped on the sidewalk and faced him.
“What?”
“You tell me,” I said, irritated.
“I don’t know what you mean, Heath. I said he could be a suspect, didn’t I?”
“I don’t think you really believe it, though. Do you?”
“I think you want him to be the killer. Your jealousy has clouded your reasoning, and I think that can and will get you into trouble if you’re not careful,” Alan said.
I scowled. “Why would I be jealous? Just because Henry’s smart, charming, intelligent, talented, and stunningly attractive.”
“All right, fine. Yes, sure he is. He’s all those things.”
My heart sank to my knees.
“But so are you,” Alan said.
“Thanks.”
“I mean it, Heath. You’re really swell. I must admit Hank kind of swept me off my feet, though. I mean, we were sharing the theater experience together, sharing a dressing room, and yeah, sure, I’m attracted to him, but nothing happened, honestly!”
“Did you want something to happen?”
“No.” He glanced abruptly down at his feet. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I’m sorry.”
My heart rose again. I lifted his chin up so our eyes met. “Hey, it’s okay. I just want you to be honest.”
“I’m trying to be. With you and with myself. Hank’s pretty exciting, but you’re just you.”
I felt my heart sink once more. “I see.”
“No! No you don’t, Heath. You’re you in every wonderful way. You’re the one I want to go to bed with, just to sleep with. My head on your arm, or my back to your chest, the window open.”
“You know I don’t like sleeping with the window open,” I said.
“Just to make it chillier so we have to snuggle closer,” Alan said. I felt tears in my eyes. The blush in his cheeks was the color of a fresh pink rosebud.
“You make me feel safe, Heath. Wanted, desired. You make me feel important and attractive, and smart. All Hank ever did was make me feel excited. That was nice, but excitement can’t be sustained, do you know what I mean?”
My heart rose up again and started beating so loudly I thought I could hear it. “I-I think so.”
“You make me laugh, and you make me think, and sometimes you make me really, really mad, but that’s okay. You’re smart and witty, and once in a while annoying. You’re not perfect, but I think you’re perfect for me.”
I looked at him tenderly, forgetting the outside world for a moment, forgetting we were standing on a public sidewalk in a busy, residential neighborhood. “I feel the same way about you,” I said quietly.
“You do?”
“You know I do.”
“You’ve never said.”
“I guess I’m not good at expressing my feelings, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel them.”
We stood there staring at each other for several minutes until two kids in cowboy outfits and cap pistols came running up the sidewalk and split us apart, ending the moment. We both laughed.
“We’d better get going, I guess,” I said at last.
“Yes, we still have a murder to solve.”
“And Henry’s a suspect, once and for all?”
“Yes, Henry’s a suspect, once and for all. As long as you don’t think about him any differently because…well, because.”
“Deal. And thanks for reining me in, partner.” We smiled and nudged each other’s shoulders before continuing down the sidewalk.
When we reached my car, I turned it around, aiming it in the direction of the theater.
“Where are you going?” Alan said, puzzled.
“Just a brief stop at the Davidson before we go to the station. I want to pick something up. Fingers crossed I remember how to disarm the alarm. I watched pretty carefully when Oliver did it before.”
Luckily, I did remember. I retrieved the can of putty from the makeup room, and we were soon on our way back downtown. I parked in front of the station in a loading zone.
“Wait here, in case a cop shows up,” I said to Alan. “I’ll leave the keys in it in case you have to move it.”
“It’s Sunday. Loading zones aren’t enforced on Sundays, Detective. You should know that.”
I grinned. “Fine, Officer, but wait here anyway. I won’t be but a minute.” I ran up to the second floor, hoping Fletch would still be there. Fortunately, he was. I was on a lucky streak.
“You’re putting in the hours this weekend, Heath,” he said as I entered his office.
“I could say the same for you, Fletch.”
He shrugged his small, bony shoulders and pushed his glasses up his nose. “I was just about to head home. The wife’s got dinner waiting.”
I cocked my head. “Can you spare a few more minutes?”
“How did I know you were going to ask me that? It’s pot roast tonight, Heath. I don’t want to be late for that.”
I smiled. “I don’t think it will take all that long. I just need you to compare the dried-up bits of clay in the ridges of this key with this bit of makeup putty.”
Fletch sighed. “Apparently you’ve already forgotten everything I said before. Just once I’d like to have you work a day in the lab. There are procedures to follow, tests to run, things to analyze, steps that must be taken in the proper order. Besides, the rest of the crew has gone home…”
“You’re right, I know. I’m sorry, Fletch. It’s just that time is of the essence.”
Fletch sighed again. “Time is always of the essence with you. You can be really annoying sometimes.”
I laughed. “That’s what Alan told me earlier, too.”
“Smart man. All right, let me see what I can do.”
“Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”
“At last count you owe me twelve. By the way, we got the results back on that broom handle and mirror.”
“Do tell.”
“Dick Cooper’s fingerprints were on the broom handle, but no prints on the mirror except yours and Eve Holloway’s.”
“It’s only natural Dick’s fingerprints would be on the broom, but you didn’t find anyone else’s?”
“Nope. The residue on the broom handle and the mirror were left by some type of tape.”
“I thought that might be the case. And the pencil and the ledger? Anything unusual?”
“Since you’re so smart, you tell me,” Fletch said.
“The pencil showed signs of cyanide on its surface, the ledger was clean.”
“Damn it, Heath, how do you do that?”
“It was just a hypothesis, now confirmed.”
“So, what does it mean?” Fletch said.
“It means I think I’m on the right track.”
“To where?”
“I’ll fill you in later. By the way, did you check for fingerprints on the pencil and ledger?”
Fletch sighed and looked annoyed. “No, because you didn’t ask me to, and that’s not really my job.”
“Right. My mistake. Would you do that for me, please? And I really need the putty analysis.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said resignedly. “Give me a few.”
I grinned again. “Thanks!” I left him to it and went back downstairs, where Alan was still waiting in the car, the window rolled down. I asked him to go inside and call the local radio station, WBSM, and verify some information, followed by a long-distance call to Hamilton Marshall Brach in Hollywood. While he was doing that, I went to my desk in the detective’s room and called the woman who shared my mother’s party line to see if her son was home. After thirty minutes or so, I headed back to Fletch’s office.
“Did I give you enough time?”
Fletch looked up at me, pushing his glasses back up his nose once more. “Honestly, Heath, why do I like you?”
“Because I’m humble and charming, of course!”
“No, that can’t be it. But the putty does seem to match the material in the ridges of the key. Same consistency and color.”
“Excellent. I suspected it would.”
“Of course you did. I also managed to lift some fingerprints off the pencil and ledger, but I haven’t had time to compare them to the ones on file from the cast yet. But you probably already know what I’ll find, so why bother?”
“Funny, Fletch. I have my suspicions, but I do need them confirmed,” I said.
“Now you’re the funny one, Heath. Is the fingerprint analysis something you definitely need right now? Because it’s pot roast night, as I mentioned, and there will be hell to pay if it’s cold when I get home.”
“The fingerprint analysis can wait until morning. I can’t think of anything else right now, but if I do…”
“If you do, it can wait until morning, too.”
“Understood. Tell the wife hello for me.”
“Will do. She wants you to come to supper again soon, by the way. She really does make a mean pot roast, and she likes you. God knows why. She thinks you’re too thin.”
I laughed. “I’ll take you two up on that, then. By the way, may I borrow one of your clipboards?”
Fletch sighed and heaved his little shoulders. “I’m not even going to ask. Be my guest.”
“Thanks, Fletch, I really appreciate it. Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch about dinner.”
I headed back downstairs, collected Alan once more, and together we headed out to my car, comparing notes on what each of us had found out.