Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 37, No. 6, June 1992

A Lesson in Murder by Richard Hardwick

Gladys Parker wore a pink dress and a little hat that was pinned to her blonde hair and her glasses were still in place, even though she was floating face up and was quite dead.

“I could tell she was dead,” the young manager of the Brookdale Community Club swimming pool was saying to one of the two uniformed policemen who answered the call. “I figured I better call the cops before I touched anything.”

“You got a bathing suit on. Think you could get her over here to the edge of the pool?” the officer said.

The young man looked out at the floating body and nodded. “I guess so.”

He waded out waist-deep and gingerly pushed the body to the edge, where the two policemen hauled it out, dripping, and stretched it out on the concrete parapet.

“There’s something else there,” the young man said. He waded back out, ducked under the surface, and returned to the poolside with a dark handbag. “It was on the bottom.”

One officer opened it, drained the water out, and took out a billfold. He glanced through a few sodden identification cards. “Her name was Gladys Parker. Lived over on Huntington.” He turned to the pool manager. “Did you know her? Was she a member of the pool?”

The young man shook his head. “I never saw her before. Huntington’s a pretty good ways off for our members, anyhow. Clear across town.”

“How do you suppose she got in with the gate locked?”

The young man pointed across the pool. “There’s a hole over there some kids cut in the fence. The committee hasn’t got around to fixing it yet. I guess that’s where she got in.”

“Hey, Jim,” the second officer said. “Take a look here at her throat. See them marks?”

The first officer knelt beside his partner and looked at the smooth flesh of the woman’s throat. After a few seconds he said, “Get back to the car and call in. Tell ’em to get somebody from Homicide over here.”

Lieutenant George Jernigan was in the squad room when the call came in. He was standing at the third floor window staring down at the Sunday vacant street, and he was idly wondering about the motivation of crusaders. Why, he rhetorically asked himself, couldn’t everyone adjust to reality. Why didn’t they see that a man had to live, that he had to put something aside for his retirement, that it was not necessarily evil intent or greed or dishonesty that prompted underpaid civil servants to take a little extra when and where they could find it.

“A body just turned up, lieutenant,” said Detective Ed Marvin. The young man looked down at the memo slip in his hand. “A woman, a Gladys Parker, was found in the swimming pool of the Brookdale Community Club. The boys who answered the call said she looked like she might have been strangled.”

“Let’s see that,” Jernigan said, taking the slip from Marvin. He looked at the penciled name for a moment and rubbed his chin. “I know a girl named Gladys Parker.”

“We better get a move on,” said Marvin.

Marvin drove, using the siren sparingly because traffic was light and Sunday school was in session. They reached the oak-shaded street in the quiet suburban neighborhood and pulled to a stop behind the black and white patrol car.

“Morning, Lieutenant Jernigan,” the uniformed officer greeted them. “The body’s down there by the swimming pool. The meat wagon’s on the way.”

“Who found it?” asked Jernigan.

“A kid named Latham. He’s the manager here. He was opening for the day, and he spotted her floating out there in the middle of the pool.”

Jernigan led the way down the curving stone steps from the street level and through the open gate in the steel fence. The three men stopped beside the woman’s body.

“Is that the Gladys Parker you knew, lieutenant?” said Marvin.

Jernigan nodded, looking down at the bluish marks about the young woman’s throat.

“Here’s her handbag,” said the second uniformed officer.

Marvin took it and carefully went through the contents. Among the effects was seventy-eight dollars in small bills. A gold ring was in the bottom of the bag. “Doesn’t seem to have been robbery. Who was she, lieutenant?”

“Gladys was a small time blackmailer, among other things. She was also a source of information to me.”

“One of your stoolies, huh?”

Up on the street the police ambulance pulled to the curb, the red blinker atop it flashing. The two attendants got out and came down the steps carrying a wheeled stretcher between them.

Jernigan slowly rose from squatting beside the body, feeling the protest of his leg muscles. He looked again at the dead woman. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, but she had packed a lot of living into those years. He shook his head, not philosophically but resignedly, as a man does who has come to accept almost everything as being inevitable. Then he turned and went to question Latham, the manager of the pool.

“Jernigan,” said Captain Johannsen, walking around from behind his desk and pausing at the window with his hands clasped behind him. “You know as well as I do that this damned grand jury investigation of the department is going to stir up a commotion that will be far out of proportion to anything they might turn up. There’s nothing we can do about that.” The captain turned from the window and looked at Jernigan. “Good publicity is the only weapon we can fight it with. A good press right now would be one hell of a help. How does this Parker case look? Have you got any lead on it?”

Jernigan stubbed out his cigarette in the desk ashtray. “I knew the woman. She dabbled in blackmail, and that’s always a risky business. She was indicted a few years back on a blackmail charge but the charge was dropped before it came to trial.”

“Then it could have been somebody she had the hook in,” suggested the captain.

“I’ve got my feelers out. Maybe something will turn up.”

“I want you to concentrate on this one, Jernigan. I want you on it full time, and you can have Marvin or anybody else to give you a hand. I want this one cracked and cracked fast. A murder case, particularly one involving a woman, always sells a lot of newspapers, and we’d get quite a boost from that direction if this one was wrapped up quick.”

“All right, captain. I’ll keep Marvin on it with me. He’s new and he’s eager. Sometimes that pays off.”

“I’ll look for a report every day on this one, direct to me.”

Jernigan went from Captain Johannsen’s office to the squad room. Detective Ed Marvin was at a desk, a dogeared file before him. “That the Parker package?” Jernigan asked.

Marvin nodded. “You were right, lieutenant. She was a blackmailer, and apparently a damned slippery one. How do you go about finding out who someone was blackmailing? We searched her apartment and came up with nothing.”

“How’d we get into her apartment?”

“How’d we get in?” the young detective said. “Whatdya mean?”

“I mean how. There was a door, and it was locked. Who opened it?”

“The apartment super — say! I see what you mean. There was no key in her purse.”

Jernigan sat down and pulled the file to him.

Marvin went on. “Then the murderer probably took the key and went there after he killed her. If there was anything pointing to him, he got rid of it.”

“Has the medical report come in yet?” asked Jernigan.

“Right there under the folder. Looks like the killer tried to strangle her, then hit her on the head with something blunt. She was apparently unconscious when she was put in the pool. She died by drowning.”

“The captain’s hot on this one,” Jernigan said. “He wants action, and he wants it right now.”

“That grand jury business?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you think there’s corruption in the department, lieutenant?”

“The department is made up of human beings. Underpaid human beings.” Jernigan pulled an ashtray toward him and lighted a cigarette.

“So we all get the name ‘crooked cop’ because of one or two, is that it?”

“I know how you feel, son. I used to feel that way myself.”

“You used to?”

“Until I realized I couldn’t change the world, that there wasn’t one damned thing I could do about it. And also until I realized that people have short memories. So-called police corruption is just another form of sensationalism, and as soon as it gets out of the headlines everybody forgets all about it.”

“That sounds a little cynical,” Marvin said. He looked carefully at his superior and he wasn’t sure he liked Jernigan.

“Maybe,” Jernigan said. “If being practical is cynical, then I’ve got it.”

The squad room phone jingled, and Marvin answered it. He spoke briefly, then held the instrument out. “Call’s for you, lieutenant.”

Jernigan pushed the medical report aside and took the phone. “Lieutenant Jernigan,” he said. He listened for half a minute, wrote something on a memo pad, and said, “If you pick up anything else, get in touch.” Then he hung up.

Marvin looked at him expectantly. But for a long while Jernigan stared down at the pad before him on the desk, then he slowly shook his head.

“What is it?” said Marvin.

“It might be a lead on the Parker case. And then again it just might be a hot potato, a helluva hot potato.”

“Yeah?” Marvin perched on the corner of the desk and waited.

“Have you ever heard of a fellow by the name of George Webster?”

Marvin touched a thumbnail to his lips. “It rings a bell...” He snapped his fingers. “Webster! Isn’t he the guy that’s heading up the Citizens’ Committee? The guy who’s so hot on having the department investigated?”

“That’s the one.”

“Well, what about him?”

“He’s had a couple of meetings with Gladys Parker lately.”

Marvin stared. “You mean she was putting the bite on him? George Webster?”

Jernigan got up and went to the window. He watched the cars moving along the street. People on the move, going places. Not many of them knew where they were going, or why. They just went, and most of them minded their own business along the way. Why was it some of them had this urge to come poking their noses into places that didn’t concern them? Your nose could get caught...

“You think she was?” said Marvin.

Jernigan raised his eyes and watched a jet liner climbing over the city, the engines pouring black smoke. “At least it’s worth checking out.”

“How about your tip, are you sure it was on the level?”

“As sure as I am of any of them,” said Jernigan. He went to the water cooler and filled a paper cup. He came back to the desk, took a vial from the middle drawer, shook out two capsules, and swallowed them with the water.

“What’ll we do?” said Marvin. “If we start questioning Webster, all hell will break loose.”

“Are you saying we can’t bring in a man because he’s heading up a Citizens’ Committee?” Jernigan smiled vaguely. “The law’s supposed to be the same for everybody.”

“Sure, lieutenant, but...”

“I know what you mean, son.

I was just trying to pull your leg.”

Marvin threw out his hands. “You know what it’ll look like. If we can’t nail him and nail him good, he’ll say it was just a smear campaign. Besides, what the devil is the word of one of your stoolies to that of a man like Webster?”

Youth and reason. The boy would make a good cop in time. Jernigan crumpled the paper cup and sent it spinning into the wire waste basket.

“The captain didn’t tell me where to draw the line, Marvin. He just said crack it.”

Detective Ed Marvin started to say something, then turned away and drew a hand across his forehead. He whirled and knuckled down on the desk. “Look, lieutenant. I’ve just been out of uniform for a little over three months. The department is my career, my life, and I’m just starting. I don’t want something to screw it up now. I—”

Jernigan interrupted. “What you’re trying to say is a lot simpler than that. You’re saying you’re afraid to tackle a man like Webster.”

“All right, lieutenant! Have it your way! But you’ve put your time in, in five or six years you get your pension and head for Florida—”

“Four and a half years,” said Jernigan, pulling the package on Gladys Parker across the desk. And I don’t want anything to happen to that either, my wise young friend, he thought.

“Can I get off the case?” Marvin said flatly.

Jernigan raised his eyes and looked squarely at Detective Marvin. “No,” he said simply.

Captain Johannsen was nervous. Jernigan could tell that by his superior’s mannerisms, the way the cigar shifted from one side of his mouth to the other. He’d had essentially the same feelings as Marvin about bringing in George Webster for questioning. And yet there had been little alternative. Jernigan had checked out the tip and found witnesses to the meeting of George Webster and Gladys Parker.

The captain moved to his office window, his hands busy grasping each other behind his back. He turned reluctantly to face the man in the expensive business suit.

“Mr. Webster, two days ago a woman’s body was found in a swimming pool on the north side of town. You may have read the accounts in the newspapers. The woman’s name was Gladys Parker.” The captain came back to his desk and sat down. This was hard going for him. It always was.

Jernigan moved to the side of the desk and looked with deceptively mild eyes at George Webster. “Did you know Gladys Parker?”

“Did I—” For a moment the man was startled. He recouped quickly. “I read that the woman was a blackmailer, perhaps worse. Why would I know her?”

Jernigan’s gaze remained on Webster’s face. “We have information that you met with Gladys Parker on two separate occasions within the past ten days. There are witnesses to these meetings, Mr. Webster. I feel I should tell you that before you make any further denial of knowing Gladys Parker. These witnesses will swear in court—”

“All right. I did know her. But there was no personal connection. I was—” He looked quickly to Captain Johannsen and back to Jernigan. “I was looking for information that might be of value to the grand jury. Oh, I know what you’re thinking, Lieutenant Jernigan. You’re thinking that I’ve seen too many private eye shows and that I should leave the investigating to those who know about such things. Well, if it weren’t for us nosy amateurs, the professionals would cut City Hall up and cart it away.”

“Is that an accusation, Mr. Webster?” prodded Jernigan. “If it is, then maybe you’d like to make a statement to the newspapers, and perhaps you’d also like to back it up with a little proof.”

“That’s enough, Jernigan,” said Johannsen. He turned his attention to George Webster. “Frankly, Mr. Webster, I was somewhat surprised when your name came up in connection with this case. It was... untimely.”

“Where were you Saturday night, Mr. Webster?” asked Jernigan.

“At home, as usual. Alone.” He whirled on Johannsen. “Captain, if you think I don’t see through this little game then you’re a very naive man. It’s the old shell game. You try to draw attention away from what’s really going on. If you can discredit me, even by implication, then you think the investigation of the police department will lose steam. I’m no fool. I am a reputable businessman, not a... a...”

“Not a stupid cop, Mr. Webster?” said Jernigan with exaggerated patience. “Mr. Webster, I’ve been on the police force of this city for thirty-eight years. I’ve got four and a half years to go to retirement. In my time I’ve seen more than a few so-called citizens’ committees come barging in here with a big broom, yelling corruption at the top of their lungs. And I’ve seen these same self-righteous individuals go sneaking to this or that judge or police captain or lieutenant wanting to get a lousy parking ticket fixed, or trying to get Junior off on a speeding charge, or worse. It’s been my unfortunate experience that almost all these high type citizens somehow consider themselves above this same law that they are so hell-bent on straightening out. And you, Mr. Webster, are no exception in my opinion.”

“I don’t have to stand for this!” George Webster exploded, springing up from his chair.

“Please sit down, Mr. Webster,” said the captain. He glared at Jernigan. “The lieutenant has been working hard on the Parker case. I think perhaps he’s tired.”

“You’re right, captain,” said Jernigan. “I am tired. I’m bone tired. I’d like to leave if I may.”

Johannsen, with obvious relief, nodded.

Behind him, as he closed the door, Jernigan heard the captain’s voice as he began his effort to close the breach that had been opened.

“How’d it go?” asked Marvin.

“It surprises Webster how us ‘crook cops’ have time between shakedowns to find out things about him.”

“You don’t think much of this grand jury thing, do you?”

“I’ve seen them before. They screw up the routine. It takes time to get things rolling again.”

Marvin nodded. “Maybe it’s only intended as a control. You know, just to sort of let everybody know that people are interested in how their tax money is spent.”

Jernigan sighed. “Then why the hell don’t they spend their time checking on paving contracts, or purchasing, or—” He swiveled around in his chair and picked up a pencil from the desktop. “Four and a half years and they can have it. They can have the whole damned mess. Right now we’ve got us a murder case to work on.”

Marvin pulled a chair to the desk.

“Where do we go from here? This George Webster character is the only lead we’ve got so far.”

“Until I hear different, that’s the lead we follow.”

“You’re sticking your neck out, lieutenant. You could get your head chopped off.”

Jernigan shook a cigarette from his pack and looked at Marvin over the flame of a match. “It’s been swung at before.”

In his small apartment that evening, Lieutenant Jernigan had two drinks before preparing himself a frozen dinner. Usually, he limited himself to one drink, but tonight something was on his mind. There was a decision he had to make, and it was not at all the sort of thing he liked to do. It seemed that lately there had been a lot of decisions.

He finished his dinner and methodically cleaned up the small kitchenette; then he went to the desk in the living room and opened the center drawer. He looked through the papers there and withdrew a letter that had been written in green ink. This he carefully read, and when he was done he snipped away portions with a pair of nail scissors, charred the entire edge of the paper with a match flame, and put the letter in his pocket. He sat for several minutes, staring into space. Then he sighed and got up wearily and went to the hi-fi. He took the Eroica from its jacket, placed it on the turntable, and sat down in his sagging easy chair. He closed his eyes, and a slow smile came to his face, as if a great weight had been lifted off him.

“You think you’re on the right track in this thing, Jernigan?” Captain Johannsen said.

“You know as much as I do, sir. I’ve always counted on my contacts, and ninety percent of the time it’s paid off to some extent.”

“And this latest tip is that you might turn up evidence in the Parker case if you search George Webster’s home, is that it?”

Jernigan nodded.

The captain shook his head and resumed his pacing over a section of carpet that had obviously participated in many a thorny decision. “I don’t know. If this thing backfired...” He stopped pacing and looked at Jernigan. “How reliable is this source of yours?”

Jernigan shrugged. “They don’t have credentials or give guarantees. In fact, this particular bit of advice happens to be from an anonymous source.”

“Anonymous! Are you out of your mind, Jernigan!”

“The record speaks for itself, captain.”

“Well,” Johannsen conceded, “it’s a fact that you’ve got more and better underworld contacts than any other man on the force. If it was somebody else who turned this up, I think I’d squash it before it got off the ground. But you...” The captain began his walk again.

“Webster’s out of town for a couple of days. This would be a good time to make the search.”

Johannsen sighed. “Why can’t things be simple. A lousy blackmailer gets herself knocked off, and who turns out to be our one and only suspect? Just the head of the Citizens’ Committee.”

“I remember a sweet little grandmother who murdered four people with a butcher knife. She was so sweet she even took her knitting to death row and knitted the executioner a pair of argyle socks. You can’t put murderers in a category.”

“Save your object lessons for Detective Marvin,” the captain said sourly.

“You want this case wrapped up,” said Jernigan. “This could do it.”

“What did this tipster of yours say to look for at Webster’s?”

“He didn’t say.”

“It could be a trap. George Webster didn’t like our bringing him in here, he didn’t like it one damned bit. And your little extemporaneous lecture went over with him like a lead balloon. This thing could be a plan to get my scalp.”

“And mine,” Jernigan added. “If you say so, I’ll go out on the limb by myself. I can wait till you’re off duty and get the warrant on my own.”

Johannsen shook his head, as Jernigan knew he would. “If we pull this, we pull it together.” He looked again at his subordinate. “Do you really think this might be something?”

“I say let’s get a warrant and find out.”

“But Webster’s position—”

“If a man hasn’t got position, if he hasn’t got something to lose, he’s not worth the time of day to a blackmailer.”

Captain Johannsen sighed heavily, realizing the battle was lost. “Get your damned warrant,” he said.

“Some joint, huh?” Detective Marvin said nervously as he stood on the porch of the house with Lieutenant Jernigan and waited for someone to answer his ring.

“Shows you what you might have ended up with if you hadn’t decided to be a cop,” said Jernigan.

“Yeah,” said Marvin, shifting his feet.

The wide white door opened and a middle-aged woman in a pale green uniform said, “Yes?”

Jernigan flashed his badge. “Police,” he said. “We’ve got a search warrant.”

The woman looked puzzled. “Mr. Webster isn’t here. Could you come back tomorrow?”

“No, ma’am,” said Jernigan, stepping through the door and past the woman. “Take the upstairs, Marvin—”

“Wait a minute...” the woman objected. “You can’t do this... Mr. Webster...”

“We can do this, lady. This piece of paper says so. Now, you just go back to your kitchen or get on with whatever you were doing.”

“But... the police...” Her hands worked nervously.

“We are the police, miss,” said Jernigan. “Take the upstairs, Marvin. I’ll check down here.”

“What should I look for?”

“How the hell should I know. Just get busy.”

Marvin went up the curving staircase two steps at a time. The housekeeper moved uncertainly back to the sanctuary of the kitchen, and Jernigan busied himself by beginning his search in the library.

Forty-five minutes later Jernigan paused at the foot of the staircase. “Marvin?” he called. “How you coming up there?”

“Nothing yet, lieutenant. I’ve got one more room to check.”

Jernigan grunted and went into the kitchen. The woman sat at a white work table and stared at him. He went past her and out into the back yard.

Five minutes later, when Marvin came down the stairs, Jernigan was in the living room looking through the volumes of a small bookcase recessed into the wall beside the fireplace.

The young detective shook his head. “It looks like a wild goose chase to me. There wasn’t anything up there. If I knew what to look for—”

“Check outside,” said Jernigan. “Check real good.”

Marvin went out, and Jernigan sat down and took out his pack of cigarettes. A small pile of butts had built up in the brass ashtray, and Jernigan got up and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. The housekeeper had disappeared, and the sound of a washing machine came from an adjoining utility room.

Marvin came running in from outside, a broad grin on his face. “Lieutenant! Take a look at this!” He held out a partially charred piece of white paper. “I found it in the incinerator. It would have burned except that somebody probably crammed too much paper in and the fire was smothered.” He cleared his throat and held the paper out and started to read:

Here, a portion of the letter was burned away, and then it continued, partway through a sentence.

Marvin’s grin returned. “That ought to sew it up. She was blackmailing him, and there’s the ultimatum right there. Whaddya think?”

“I’d say it doesn’t look too good for Mr. Webster.” Lieutenant George Jernigan turned away to the kitchen window. By the strong sunlight he saw the long smudge of black along the side of his hand, and he held out the hand and turned on the tap, washing away all trace of the soot.

He looked out the window at the patio and the barbecue grill, and he thought, That guy could have saved himself a hell of a lot of trouble if he had held up his lousy crusade for four and a half more years...

Then he turned to Detective Marvin. “Nice work, son. Now, let’s get back to the office. I want to get off these feet for awhile.”