Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 43, No. 4. Whole No. 245, April 1964

The Detective in the Iron Lung by Vern Gaudel

This is Vern Gaudel’s “second story” — his “first story” was “Foggy, Foggy Night” in the September 1963 issue of EQMM and it showed what this new writer could do in a mere 650 words. Now Mr. Gaudel, for his second effort, lengthens his stride, and shows us something else — that he has an instinct, a sure touch, for detective-story plot. Mr. Gaudel is wording in the grand tradition, and we expect grand things from him in the future.

Pete Rodney felt fine — comparatively speaking, that is. It’s pretty hard to feel really “fine” when you’re confined to an iron lung, and all you can move is your head — from here to here.

But compared to the way he ordinarily felt, he certainly felt much better than usual, and it was hard to say why. There was something in the air. Something about the hospital was different today.

An undercurrent of excitement, a backwater stirring, he said to himself. Something has disturbed the steady, even flow of events that makes one day in a hospital seem like every other day. Nurses were a little late answering bells; little whispering groups formed in the corridor, broke up hurriedly, only to form again. There was an almost audible hum of agitation — he could “feel” it.

When Nurse Kelly answered his special ring she seemed excited. “What is it, Mr. Rodney?” she said, glancing back through the door, as if fearful she might miss something.

“That,” said Pete, a little plaintively, “is what I would like to know. What’s going on? Did Ben Casey smile at somebody?”

“Oh,” said Nurse Kelly, who was young, inexperienced, and generally referred to as ‘cute.’ “Didn’t you hear? It’s about that Mr. What’s-his-name, DeVery or something, the one they call The Dutchman — over in the other wing.”

“Old Corny?” asked Pete. “I didn’t even know he was here. What’s wrong with The Terror of the Underworld, the Boss of the Slots, the King of the Numbers, and all the rest of it?”

“Well,” said Nurse Kelly, “he was supposed to have exploratory surgery this morning, but when they went in to get him” — she paused for dramatic effect — “someone had cut his throat from ear to ear!”

“Hurray for our side,” said Pete who in his active days had often tangled with the Vice Lord’s underlings, although never with the Big Boy himself. “Glad to hear it. But there will be repercussions. Yes, indeed, repercussions all over the place.”

“But the funny part is,” Nurse Kelly went on, “it was impossible. Nobody could have done it. There was a nurse sitting at a desk not twenty feet from his door all morning, and she swears nobody went into his room all morning except ‘personnel in pursuit of their routine duties.’ It was that old Forsythe — you know how she talks.”

“On what floor did this gory miracle take place?”

“On the ninth floor,” Nurse Kelly said triumphantly. “And there’s nothing but a straight drop on each side — oh, you know what I mean!”

“Hmm,” said Pete. “No fire escapes, no convenient ledges? No adjoining buildings? What about the roof?”

“Why, Mr. Rodney,” said Nurse Kelly, “you know the roof. You’ve been there. It’s all glassed-in. The solarium, you know.”

“Oh,” said Pete, “is that the wing?”

“Yes,” she rushed on, “and right below him is old lady Bigelow — you know the one, she must be a hundred and twenty. Never sleeps at all, and wakes up at a whisper.”

“Then it must have been done from the room above, or by helicopter.”

“Ha!” said Nurse Kelly even more triumphantly. “That whole section above his room is where the diet kitchen is, and that’s always full of people. You can’t even swipe a glass of milk out of the refrigerator without getting caught. And above that is the operating room.”

“I give up, Nurse,” Pete joked. “How did you do it?”

Miss Kelly looked at him indignantly. “I thought you’d be interested,” she said. “Aren’t you the guy who used to be a private eye, or something?”

Pete sighed. “Yeah, I’m him,” he admitted. “Nurse, are you sure you’ve told me everything?... Then it is a poser. Hmm... Give me something to do. Why don’t you come back after lunch and we’ll theorize a little. And if you want to help, see if you can find out if he had any visitors last night.”

“Okay,” she said eagerly, “and I’ll bring all the newspapers that are out. Maybe you can figure it out.”

“Honey,” said Pete solemnly, “I’ve got a hunch nobody can figure this one out but the guy who did it. And personally I think he should get a reward, or at least a medal. But let’s give it the old college try.”

When Nurse Kelly returned to Pete Rodney’s room that afternoon she found him in exactly the same position she had left him. This did not surprise her. Mr. Rodney, she knew, was always in the same position in his iron lung — flat on his back, looking at the ceiling, able to move only his head, a little from left to right and back, and with an extra effort to push his special nurse’s bell with his chin.

She supposed he must be out of the lung for brief periods, but she had never seen it. Being only a novice nurse, her time was taken up mostly with menial duties.

But right now she was on her own time, and eager to help solve what had already become in her mind the Great Hospital Mystery.

“Hi,” she said with genuine cheerfulness. “Did Nurse Graham take care of you while I was gone?”

“Oh, sure,” Pete said. “I’ve been fed, and burped, and all the rest of it. What did you find out?”

“Well, I talked to the nurses who were on duty in Mr. What’s-his-name’s section last night, and they say he didn’t have any visitors at all yesterday — not a single one, day or night. He told them so himself. It seems there’s some guy supposed to report to him every day, on what the Numbers take was, or something; but this guy never showed at all, nor anybody else, and he was pretty mad about it. He said these guys that left him alone to stew in his own juice all day, they’d find out who was Boss as soon as he got out! You know what I mean?”

Pete smiled. “I get the idea that Old Corny had no visitors whatever yesterday, either day or night. Is that your testimony, Nurse?”

“That’s what I said,” she replied, a little put out. “But anyway I can’t see why it makes any difference. What’s yesterday got to do with today?”

“Well,” said Pete slowly, talking more to himself than to her, “you said, and check me if I’m wrong, that Old Corny — and by the way, his real name is, or was, Cornelius de Vries, commonly known as The Dutchman, and he controlled all the vice and rackets in this city — you said his throat was cut in a room where access to the window was impossible, and a nurse was stationed right outside his door. Now about that Nurse: what did you say her name is?”

“Oh, Miss Forsythe, Don’t get any ideas about her. She wouldn’t break a regulation if her life depended on it, or yours either. If she says no one went into that room but authorized hospital personnel, believe me, it’s so. And she wasn’t on ordinary duty, she was on Special — checking records of former patients for one of the doctors — and she never left her desk for a minute all morning.”

“You’re not making this any easier for me to solve, Miss Kelly.”

“Well, that’s the way it was. And you didn’t tell me why all that stuff about yesterday’s visitors.”

Pete considered the vast white expanse of ceiling above him. “Nobody could have gotten in through the window,” he said. “According to you and Miss Forsythe, nobody could have gotten in through the door. This is a modern hospital — no sliding panels, trapdoors, or secret passages. But in private rooms there are closets, some of them quite large. I thought perhaps a visitor had hidden in The Dutchman’s closet overnight, and done his stuff this morning. But if there were no visitors at all yesterday, that knocks one theory out.

“Let’s see now... yes, there’s another possibility. And here’s how you can help — legwork they call it, and I’m sure your legs are more than adequate. Now listen carefully, Nurse: go to a phone booth and look up the number of a man named Harry Kermitt. That’s K-E-R-M-I-T-T. Got it? When he answers, ask him if he worked today. If he says no — and I’m sure he will say no because the radio said he was slugged and robbed last night — just ask him who took his place. Nothing more, understand. If he asks you any questions, don’t answer him. Hang up, come back here — and maybe we can solve the unsolvable.”

Nurse Kelly looked doubtful. “I got it all,” she said, “but it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Never mind the sense,” Pete said. “That comes later. Just do exactly as I said. Above all, don’t get carried away and start jabbering. If I’m wrong about this guy you might be endangering your life. But I’m pretty sure he’s not the one who did it.”

“Well, okay, but I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Nurse Kelly went out the door, and vanished down the hallway. Pete closed his eyes. He didn’t feel so fine now. Why do I let myself get dragged into these things, he thought.

Time passed. He waited. These days that was all he did — wait...

When Nurse Kelly came back, Pete greeted her eagerly. “Did you do what I told you? What did Harry Kermitt say?”

“He sounded like a nice guy,” she said. “I agree with you — I don’t think he did it. He said he couldn’t go to work today, but some guy from the union came around and offered to take his place, so he let him, and was anything wrong.”

“And you said no and hung up, I hope.”

“That’s right. I wish you’d tell me just what we’re doing, and why.”

“We are solving an impossible murder,” said Pete. “Are you ready for the next assignment?”

Nurse Kelly looked doubtful again. “I suppose so,” she said. “What do I do now, call the F.B.I.?”

“That won’t be necessary. The local authorities should do. Go out, wander around the building, see if you can find somebody from Homicide who will listen to you. It’s not very late. If I know Lieutenant Hamilton, he’s probably still here asking questions. If you find him, tell him Pete Rodney has some information that might help him, and bring him back with you. Unless he’s changed a lot, he’ll come running.”

As Nurse Kelly left on her mission, Pete turned his head and sighed. Thinking can be very tiring — especially to a man in an iron lung, and especially if you are thinking about impossibilities...

When Nurse Kelly came back with Lieutenant Hamilton, she looked a little smug. Lieutenant Hamilton, on the other hand, looked somewhat strained. Actually, he didn’t care much for private eyes. He never let them sit on his desk, use his phone, or tell him what to do next. He thought they were good for divorce work, for trailing unsuspecting citizens, for guarding not-too-valuable private possessions, and for not much else. Greetings between the two men were not too cordial, but the Lieutenant made a gallant effort.

“Hello, Pete,” he said. “Sorry to see you like this. The young lady said you might have some information.”

“You might call it that,” Pete replied. “If you’d like to wrap this thing up in a hurry, here’s what to do. Have the boys pick up a fellow named Harry Kermitt — he’s in the phone book. Get a description from him of the man who took over his job today. Take Kermitt down to headquarters and let him look over the mug books. I think he’ll find your boy there — probably a freelance hood who works for a rival organization. You can take it from there.”

Lieutenant Hamilton looked at what he could see of Pete for some time. “I hate to seem more stupid than I actually am,” he said at length, “but what is this all about? To start with, who the hell is Harry Kermitt?”

Pete sighed. He was very tired. “Harry Kermitt,” he said, “is a guy I know. He’s a professional — you might almost say, a craftsman. Last night he was slugged and robbed. The robbery was a blind. The slugging was the important part. They wanted him incapacitated for today, and after the slugging he was. When some ape showed up and said he was from the union and had been sent to take Harry’s place, Harry said, ‘Sure, fine,’ or words to that effect. So the ape took Harry’s place and did his stuff. And there you are.”

“Yes,” said Lieutenant Hamilton, “there I am. But if you don’t mind, where am I? And once again, WHO is Harry Kermitt?”

Pete answered the question with a question. “Lieutenant,” he said wearily, “have you ever had a surgical operation?”

Hamilton considered briefly. “Had my appendix out a few years ago,” he said. “Why?”

“Think back, Lieutenant,” urged Pete. “What did they do to you before the operation?”

“Well, let’s see,” said the Lieutenant. “They checked me over, looked to see that I didn’t have dentures, gave me some kind of shot that knocked me out before I even got to the operating room. I always wondered what kind of language I used in there.”

“I hope it was better than your memory,” said Pete, who had had considerable experience with hospitals. “Go back a little further. Who came in to see you a little while before all that?”

The Lieutenant pondered. Had Pete been able to watch Hamilton’s face he might almost have seen the light dawn. “Of course! The guy who shaved me!”

Pete contrived a light nod. “Of course,” he said. “And Harry Kermitt is the man who should have come in this morning to shave The Dutchman, and get him ready for his operation. Only somebody slugged Harry last night, and he didn’t feel like working today. So when the guy came around and said he was sent by the union, Harry was only too glad to let him substitute for him.”

“That must be the answer,” the Lieutenant said. “He came right over here, put on a smock, walked right past everybody who never even noticed him, did his job on The Dutchman, wiped his razor, put it back in the case, and walked out — as invisible as The Invisible Man! Rodney, I’ve underestimated you. Thanks a million. If you ever get out of that thing and need any help, look me up. My memory is better than you think!”

“Okay, Lieutenant,” said Pete, a little bitterly. “I think you’re safe enough on that promise. Why don’t you go get the guy? I’m tired. And besides, I want to find out if this gorgeous creature knows what’s going on.”

“Got to keep up the act,” he thought. And aloud he said, “Honey, you were marvelous. It’s all settled now, so why don’t you go tell the girls all about it, and let me get some sleep.”

And she did.

And he did.