Archie Goes Home

Chapter 10

I had just gotten back to my mother’s house when the telephone jangled. “Yes, yes, he’s here,” she said into the instrument. “You are coming over now? Well... all right, yes.”

“That was Tom Blankenship,” my mother said after hanging up. “He wants to see you about something, but he didn’t say what.”

“I’ve got an idea why he wants to talk,” I said, and it turned out I was right. Within fifteen minutes, the bell rang, and Mom swung open the door to the local police chief.

“Please come in, Chief Blankenship,” she said. “If you and Archie need to talk, I will leave you alone while I putter in the kitchen.”

“No, stay with us, Mom,” I said. “Anything the gentleman needs to discuss with me can be done in your presence.”

Blankenship stepped in, looking resplendent in his dark blue uniform and wearing an expression that showed uncertainty as to how to proceed.

“Please have a seat,” my mother said, “and I will get some coffee for all of us. I already have some in the pot.”

Our visitor looked uncomfortable as he and I sat facing each other. “I am not sure how to say this, Mr. Goodwin,” Blankenship began, “but a half hour or so ago, I received a telephone call from Donna Newman over in Selkirk. She said that you had just visited her.”

“That is correct,” I told him.

“She said that your visit upset her very much,” the chief went on, “and she complained to me about it. She told me you subjected her to an interrogation.”

“Such was not my intent, and I would not term our talk an interrogation. I merely discussed individuals who had occasion to dislike her late uncle.”

At this point, my mother reentered the room and set cups of coffee on the end tables next to us, taking a seat herself.

The chief nodded his thanks and continued. “Based on what Miss Newman told me, it appears that you are conducting an investigation into Logan Mulgrew’s death. Is that true, Mr. Goodwin?”

“I think it is fair to say that questions remain as to whether or not Mr. Mulgrew’s death was caused by a self-inflicted wound.”

Blankenship took a sip of coffee, preparing his response as the tension in the room heightened. “Mr. Goodwin, I am keenly aware that you are a well-known private investigator in New York. But this is not New York, and we here do not take kindly to outside interference in our enforcement of the law.”

“I understand, Chief Blankenship. Is there any doubt in your mind as to who pulled the trigger on the gun whose bullet killed Logan Mulgrew?”

“None whatsoever,” the chief said.

“Is it fair to say that not everyone agrees with you?” I responded.

Blankenship’s face reddened. “If you are referring to that young newspaperwoman, I am well aware of her opinion, which I take issue with.”

“What about the gunshot that was fired through Miss Padgett’s apartment window?”

“I have already made it clear that I believe that was caused by someone who in all likelihood was inebriated and was unwisely and rashly letting off steam. And if you are wondering if the gun that killed Mr. Mulgrew was the same one that fired the shot into Miss Padgett’s apartment, the answer is no. Mr. Mulgrew died of a shot fired from a .38-caliber revolver, while we dug a .32-caliber shell out of the wall of Miss Padgett’s apartment.”

“Is gunfire in town a common occurrence here?”

The chief inhaled deeply. “I haven’t seen it before in the years I’ve been on the force, but that does not mean that it can’t happen.”

“Sure, anything can happen, of course,” I said, “but doesn’t it seem unusual to you that the shot got fired into — of all places in town — the reporter’s residence so soon after her article ran in the Trumpet raising questions about Mulgrew’s death?”

It was obvious Tom Blankenship was growing frustrated with the direction the conversation had taken, but I was not about to let up. “Years ago, my boss, Nero Wolfe, taught me to be suspicious of coincidences, and I have to say that I’m darned suspicious of this one. Were any other shots fired around town that night?”

“Not that I am aware of,” the tight-lipped chief said. “Mr. Goodwin, I cannot stop you from looking into Mr. Mulgrew’s death, as long as you don’t get in the way of any police investigations.”

“With all due respect, I am not aware of any current police investigation into the death of Logan Mulgrew. Unless, of course, I am uninformed as to your department’s activities. If there is indeed an investigation, I stand corrected.”

“I make it a general policy not to comment upon ongoing operations, so I am afraid I am not at liberty to say anything more,” Blankenship replied, rising.

“Now I am well aware that Miss Newman is not a resident of this community, and therefore is outside of our jurisdiction, so I cannot protect her if you choose to submit her to a further inquisition. And you also are not a resident of this community, for that matter. Mrs. Goodwin, thank you for your hospitality. Good evening to you both,” Blankenship said as he put on his cap, bowed slightly, did an about-face, and left.

“I hope that little discussion of ours did not disturb you too much,” I said to my mother as she shut the front door behind the departing and somewhat stiff policeman.

“Quite the contrary,” she said with a smile. “I found it fascinating to watch you at work, something I had never seen.”

“I’m not sure how much work I really did just now.”

“Archie, you may not think so, but I happen to be pretty good at reading situations, and I could see that Chief Blankenship was more than a little impressed with you, however much he might be reluctant to admit it. Your mention of Mr. Wolfe further showed him that you are someone who has got to be reckoned with.”

“That really wasn’t the reason I brought Wolfe’s name up.”

“Oh, I know that,” my mother said. “You have never been one to show off. I just hope you don’t run into some sort of danger digging around in the affairs of the late Mr. Mulgrew.”

“Affairs would seem to be an apt word, all right, if what has been said about Mulgrew has any truth to it,” I said as the phone rang. My mother answered, cupped the receiver, and whispered “Katie Padgett” to me, and I nodded. “Yes, he is here,” she said, handing me the instrument.

“Hi, Archie, I was just calling to see how your meeting with Donna went.”

“It could have been better. She wasn’t in the least bit happy with my questions and comments, and she made sure that your police chief knew about it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. As I said before, she is really a very nice person.”

“Which means the fault probably was mine,” I told her. “That would not be the first time in my life. Anyway, I wouldn’t invite the two of us to the same party.”

“I’ll phone her, Archie, and try to smooth things over,” Katie said as we ended the call.

“Say, do you happen to know which local garage Charles Purcell works at?” I asked my mother.

“Oh, Archie, you’ve really got your teeth into this business, haven’t you? Yes, I know where Mr. Purcell works. It’s Renson’s, on Maple Street just a little over a block west of the courthouse. At least that’s where he was the last time I heard, which was a few months back.”

“Can you describe him?”

“He’s short, and I would call him stout, or at least stocky, although nowhere near the size of Nero Wolfe. And he’s pretty close to bald. He wears glasses and doesn’t have a mustache or beard, or at least he didn’t the last time I saw him.”

“Well, it just so happens that on my drive down here from New York, I noticed a rattle coming from somewhere in the rear end of the convertible. Now I don’t know much about cars, but it would seem likely that Charles Purcell does. What do you think I should do about that doggone rattle I’ve got?”

“I think that first thing tomorrow morning, you should drive straight over to Renson’s Garage and hope that Mr. Purcell is on duty and can fix that rattle of yours.”

“You have read my mind, which you have been doing for so many years!” I said.