Chapter 7

“It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment.”

-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet

The library was an impressive two stories high, with the second floor balcony overlooking the main floor. The arched ceiling was painted with pastoral scenes, and oriental carpets softened our footsteps. A chandelier, leather chairs and sofas and a marble fireplace added to the ambiance. Ladders on track rails provided access to the mahogany shelves stacked with books on both floors. The antique desk Tom described in which he’d found the diary was in the center of the room, surrounded by several tables displaying busts of famous people. I recognized Shakespeare, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Napoleon Bonaparte, and George Washington. Another table displayed colorful paperweights, much like the Arthur Rubloff collection in the Chicago Art Institute - another manifestation of Grange’s collector’s mania. The windows had heavy drapes to keep out sunlight, but lamps scattered throughout the room provided more than adequate artificial lighting. Tom’s excitement was justified. There were many treasures here, I felt certain.

A uniformed Chicago Police Officer was standing at the antique desk filling out paperwork and talking into his police radio. Alongside him was a man approximately 50 years old with short, wavy hair that was starting to recede. He had a thin build and wore big clear-rimmed glasses. His jaunty pink shirt and gray tailored suit was accented with a crimson hankie tucked in the breast pocket. He smiled broadly and came to greet us. Dodd introduced him as Mr. Philip Green, the Sherlockian expert who was working with the estate. He and Dodd bent heads and talked in low tones in one corner of the room until the officer finished what he’d been doing and approached.

His name badge read Whittenhall, star 13632. He held out a paper. “Here’s the case report number, Mr. Dodd. You can ask for a copy in two days. And who’s this?” He nodded in my direction.

Dodd introduced me as the victim’s business associate. He explained I would be working on the appraisal for Tom.

“If you were here at the time of the accident, I’ll have to interview you.” the Officer said.

“No. I wasn’t here.”

“Then the report can stand as written,” he told Dodd.

“I’ll pass this on to my firm,” James Dodd said as he shook hands with Officer Whittenhall.

“Officer, wait,” I interjected. “I wasn’t here, but I’m the one who called 911. Is anything about that in your report?”

“Yes, the fact that you called it in Miss McGil is in the report.”

“And what does your report conclude?” Dodd asked before I could.

“Accident on private property,” Officer Whittenhall said.

“Accident?” I was deflated.

“The injured was unconscious, so I was unable to question him. However, I’ve interviewed anyone who was around or had any knowledge of what happened. Even though the victim’s injuries were grave, my final determination is that no crime occurred and there’s no incident code.”

“So there won’t be any follow-up investigation?”

“If a crime had occurred,” Whittenhall said, “I’d take the appropriate action to have a detective follow up. But I don’t believe that’s what happened here. Everyone’s testimony supports an accident, and that’s what my report concludes.”

“He was all alone, as I understand it,” Philip Green added, bolstering Whittenhall.

“But I heard him say that someone was trying to kill him. That’s a crime, isn’t it?” In order to get all the information, I had to ask the right questions. I was feeling like a contestant on Jeopardy.

“Miss, he’d already had a bad fall and sustained a lot of injuries, including a concussion. He’s been unconscious ever since. Taking all that into consideration, there’s some doubt in my mind that he was able to think clearly at that time.”

Philip Green interjected in a low voice, “I was here when they took him out on the stretcher, and he was totally unconscious.”

“But he did say that to me,” I repeated. “And furthermore his cell phone is missing. Someone must have taken it. It wasn’t with his effects at the hospital. You’ve got to arrest whoever’s responsible for aggravated battery or attempted murder.”

“I will check that out Miss McGil. I’ll notify the officers at Billings who are waiting to interview him. We’ll find out what happened. Then if there’s reason to file an incident number, I’ll revise this report and a detective will be assigned.”

As the Officer left, I realized that as soon as he found out from those cops at Billings that I’d been masquerading as Tom’s sister, he wasn’t going to believe anything I said. Hopefully Tom would recover consciousness and remember what happened.

“So Mr. Dodd,” I asked, “the Grange estate is worth... what?”

“I can’t offer a realistic estimate. The book collection alone is worth millions. Based on our inventory, Grange was a man with fanatical book lust and a good eye for valuable pieces.”

“What’s this mansion worth?”

“It isn’t in very good shape,” he replied. “The Dowager - she was the widow of Grange’s son - shuttered the Mansion when he died in the early 1950’s. It stood vacant for many years until she moved back in shortly before her death.”

“Why didn’t the son’s wife want to live there after he died? Is it haunted?”

“Nobody’s said anything about hauntings. The Dowager married very young. She and Grange’s son lived up in Wisconsin where the family lumber business was. They have a beautiful home with over a thousand acres where the lumber baron used to entertain Vanderbilts and Rockefellers. She loved it and stayed living there until a few years before she died when she moved in here. Our firm is in charge of maintaining the estate. We brought things in the mansion up to date for her, and now we’re doing the same for the niece, Ms. Douglas, who moved in about a year and a half ago shortly after the Dowager died. We’ve done needed repairs, installed alarms, temperature and humidity controls - you know the deal. But the mansion’s now up for sale. It’ll probably be turned into a high rise, so being prudent, we have not expended estate funds for major renovations.

Raised voices wafted in from the hallway outside the library. One was Officer Whittenhall’s. The other I didn’t recognize.

“Wonder what that’s all about,” Dodd said. He crossed the room and stepped into the foyer. “What’s going on?” I heard him ask.

Green checked his watch. “That’s probably John Turner. He’s taken to dropping in every day. I wonder if he heard about the accident?”

“Who’s John Turner?”

“Didn’t Tom tell you?” the Sherlockian studied my face.

“No.”

“He’s the one we call ‘the pretender.’ He’s suing for a portion of the Grange estate. After the Dowager died, Turner showed up with a birth certificate and a letter from his mother stating that she had been a mistress of one of Grange’s sons. That would make him a grandson,” Green explained. “He admits he’s illegitimate but says there’s a birth certificate. He’s trying to get the courts to award him part of the estate. I don’t think that will ever happen though.”

“Why does Ivy Douglas let him come here if he’s suing her for part of the estate?” I asked.

“Oh, I see you don’t know the finer points of the machinations over the Dowager’s will. She left most of the estate to one of her favorite charities - the greening of the world or something like that. It isn’t a Chicago charity. The niece only gets this house and a very small stipend. Everything else goes to the go-green charity and a Foundation established to maintain the Haven, their estate in Wisconsin. That’s why they’re doing the appraisal. She hopes to sell the house and the contents quickly. She wants the money.”

“I see, but it doesn’t explain why she’d be nice to Turner.”

“That’s easy to answer - because she’s also contesting the will. Maybe she thinks having two lawsuits is better than one. It increases the chances that the will can be broken and altered - hopefully in her favor.”

“Can’t they do a quick cheek swab to let his DNA answer the unanswerable, like on Forensic Files? After all, it’s not like the old days where a man returned after 13 years to claim a title and estates, and it took a seven year trial to find him guilty of fraud and imposture.”

“You’re right, of course. The answer is that even though Ivy Douglas finds him useful as an ally in the fight to wrest the estate proceeds back from charity, she’s afraid he may be able to prove paternity and make a substantial claim.”

“Door number one or door number two,” I mused.

He pointed to the doorway. “Yes, that’s John all right. That cop is probably asking him his whereabouts this morning, just like he asked us all.” Green fluffed the crimson handkerchief in his breast pocket and sighed. “Good thing I’m not wearing blue today.”

“Blue?” I asked. “Why do you say that?”

“John dislikes anything blue,” Philip Green explained and pointed at me. “Your colors are okay in that outfit. He’ll probably complain about something else. He always does.”

I smiled. “If he doesn’t like blue, it’s a good bet he won’t like Officer Whittenhall.”

James Dodd re-entered the library followed by a slightly overweight man wearing loafers and dressed casually in a beige sport jacket over chinos and a white shirt. He was in his forties and still had a full head of light brown hair. He wore tortoise shell glasses and had a pair of sunglasses sticking out of his jacket pocket. He was holding an apple from which he’d taken a few bites. Dodd introduced me as Tom’s assistant. I guess I was making some progress, after all.

John Turner, “the pretender,” transferred the apple to his left hand and shook my hand briefly. “Nice meeting you. They told me about Tom. How is he?”

“Still in a coma. They don’t yet know the extent of his injuries.”

“I’ll stop and see him. He’s at Billings I suppose?”

“Yes, but he’s in the Intensive Care Unit, so you probably can’t get in.”

“Oh. It’s that bad, heh? I hope he’s going to recover. I enjoyed talking with him. He’s a smart guy.” He turned to Dodd. “I spend my life trying to avoid anyone dressed in blue, and today I’m accosted by a uniformed policeman. Can you imagine how upset I am? You know I dislike anything blue.”

“John has been reviewing the estate inventory,” Dodd said, ignoring the whole blue issue.

“So does this mean she’s going ahead with the appraisal?” John Turner asked.

“For the moment anyway,” Dodd answered.

Turner discarded the apple core into a container near the desk. “Good,” he declared.