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

Routine Investigation by Robert Twohy

An offbeat and oddball story — no, rather an offball and oddbeat story — no, rather a mystery of the absurd — like the theater of the same phrase...

At 7:55 on a pleasant April morning, Officer Homer Crump pulled the police car up in front of a neat little one-story frame house that stood by itself between two weed-infested vacant lots in a suburban part of the city.

His solid policeman’s stride took him up the gravel path to the door, which opened as he reached for the bell.

A billowy woman of about 50, with fluffy white hair that stood up around her head in little peaks, like meringue, was standing there. A man’s bathrobe, navy-blue, was draped loosely around her.

He said, “Mrs. Park?”

“Please come in. Can I pour you some bourbon?”

“Bourbon?”

“Perhaps you prefer gin.”

“Nothing, thanks.” He shook his head slightly. He felt a little bewildered. He wasn’t used to being plied with offers of liquor when he went out to investigate a death — certainly not at 8:00 o’clock in the morning.

He said briskly, “You reported on the phone that your husband, um, died during the night?”

“Yes.”

“If you’d please show me the body...”

Mrs. Park picked up a glass from a table. The liquid in the glass was the color of rich oak.

“He’s in the bedroom.”

She turned to lead him, and he saw, across the back of the bathrobe, in large white letters, S.S. Silver Queen.

Officer Crump had a sudden feeling that this might develop into something more than a routine investigation.

Mrs. Park allowed him to step past her into the bedroom, waved the glass toward the bed, and announced, “My husband.”

Crump, who was fairly young, and a decent, ordinary man, stood there and looked at what lay on the bed.

Mrs. Park took a sip of her drink. “His name,” she said, “was Lloyd.”

Crump said finally, “This is a joke, isn’t it?”

“A joke? Oh, no, he’s not pretending. I shook him and shook him.”

Crump said in a slow, careful voice, “What are you trying to do, Mrs. Park?”

“Oh, dear. Have I done something wrong? I thought the police were supposed to be notified when there was sudden death.”

Crump took his eyes away from what lay on the bed. He turned and went back into the living room.

She followed him. “Are you sure you won’t have some bourbon? Or gin?”

He shook his head.

She reached into a cupboard next to the fireplace and brought out a bottle. She poured four inches into the glass. After replacing the bottle, she cradled the glass in both hands and smiled at it. She said, “Lloyd loved his bourbon so.”

“Did he?” said Crump.

“Yes. He had a wonderful relationship with bourbon.”

“A wonderful relationship?”

“Yes. He was a very sensitive man — capable of deep attachments. He loved Rimsky-Korsakov too.”

“Rimsky-Korsakov and bourbon.”

“Yes, his life was a full one. And then there was the Silver Queen.” She shook her head gently, and smiled. “How he loved that beautiful boat of ours!”

Crump watched her as she sipped the bourbon. He couldn’t think, for the moment, of anything to say.

She nodded toward a leather chair in a corner of the room. “He would sit there, with Rimsky-Korsakov going on the record player, his glass in his hand and the bottle between his feet, and talk by the hour about our boat... How he would talk!”

“Rimsky-Korsakov, bourbon, and the Silver Queen.” Crump nodded. He gave a small smile. “Well, Mrs. Park, it’s a good routine. I guess you’re an old vaudevillian or something... I mean, it’s very good. But now we’ve had our little joke, and let’s not beat it to death, all right?”

She smiled vaguely, and said, “I don’t really understand.”

“What I mean is, you’ve got a skeleton dressed in green silk pajamas on that bed in there, and it’s quite a hair-raiser. But what’s the point? Do you mind letting me in on the point?”

“I don’t really understand. I mean, I telephoned... shouldn’t I have telephoned? I thought you would know what to do.”

“Not when it’s a skeleton,” Crump said. “Not when it’s a skeleton in green pajamas.”

“Lloyd was thin,” said Mrs. Park. “He had this wonderful thing with bourbon, you know, and he felt that he really couldn’t afford to spend money on food. He always tried to be practical about money matters. And, of course, we were saving to buy the Silver Queen.”

“To buy it? I thought you said you owned it.”

“Oh, no. We didn’t own it. But one day we were going to own it and just sail away, sail around the world, and never come into port, never come into port at all.” She smiled into the glass she held in her hands. “He loved that boat, he really did.” Her voice was soft. “He said it was the most beautiful boat in the world.”

Crump took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He said, “Who owns the boat?”

“The Silver Queen? I really don’t know. But one day we were going to buy it, if there really was such a boat, and if we could find it.”

Crump had a sudden feeling that if he went to the bedroom door and peeked in, the skeleton would be gone. And everything would be all right. And then he could proceed in officer-like fashion, knowing what routine to follow, dealing with a woman who drank too much and wasn’t quite right in the head.

So he went to the bedroom door. And peeked in. And the hollow eyes stared at him, and the teeth grinned at him like tiny tombstones.

He turned back and wiped his hand over his face. He said, “It’s quite a routine. Tell me, Mrs. Park, is that a real skeleton, or is it some kind of plastic job from a novelty store?”

She was looking into her glass. She said tenderly, “I do hope they have bourbon for him... on the other side.”

The doorbell rang suddenly. Mrs. Park said, “Oh, that must be Marble. I phoned her.”

“Marble?” said Crump.

A girl about eighteen, with glasses, a pale small face, and straight black hair, entered.

Mrs. Park said, “Marble, this nice young man is an official from the police. And this is my niece, Marble.”

“How do you do,” said Crump.

“Marble is a student of science at the university.” Mrs. Park smiled at the girl. “She’s getting along famously. Aren’t you, Marble?”

“Yes. Straight A’s. Excuse me, I’ll go look at Uncle Lloyd.”

Crump waited, taking deep breaths. In a few moments the girl came back. She said, “It’s too bad, Aunt. But he does look as if he went peacefully.”

She started for the door. Crump said in a hoarse voice, “Young lady.”

“Her name is Marble,” said Mrs. Park.

“I know it is. Listen — do you know what’s on that bed?”

She stared at him. Behind the thick glasses her eyes swam like pale yellow fish.

“Of course. Uncle Lloyd.”

“There’s a skeleton in that bed, young lady!”

“Her name is Marble,” said Mrs. Park.

“Damn it, all right! Marble!”

Marble said sharply, “Please don’t swear. My aunt is not accustomed to vulgar language.”

“It’s all right, dear.” Mrs. Park smiled at Crump. “The young man is only trying to do his duty.”

“Doing his duty doesn’t have to include vulgar language, Aunt.”

“They teach them such a lot of things at the university,” said Mrs. Park. She smiled at Crump.

Crump passed his hand over his face, from hairline to chin. “I,” he said, “am going to...” He stopped, because he didn’t really know what he was going to do.

Marble said, staring at him, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t think he’s used to the sight of death,” said Mrs. Park. “Have you seen death before, young man?”

“I have. I’ve seen people with bullet holes, knife wounds, I’ve seen them pulled out of smashed cars, burned-down buildings, sewers, lakes, machinery, but there’s one thing I’ve never seen, no. I’ve never seen a skeleton dressed in green silk pajamas. Where’d you get that thing in there, Mrs. Park?”

Marble said; “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand you at all.”

Crump said, “Young lady...” He stopped, turned, and took a few steps, breathing deeply. Then he turned back. “You’re a student of science, you say? All right, answer me this — where did the skin go?”

“The skin?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” Crump rubbed his temples hard. “What am I arguing for? You two are ’way ahead of me. ’Way ahead. I’d never catch up. All right, I surrender. What’s the gag? Is there really a Lloyd? I mean, do you really have a husband, Mrs. Park?”

Marble said, “Are you feeling all right, Officer?”

“I think he needs a drink,” said Mrs. Park. “Wouldn’t you let me pour you some bourbon? Or gin?”

“She doesn’t have a husband,” Marble said. She spoke very clearly and distinctly. “She had a husband. Her husband is lying in there.”

“Perhaps he wonders if I had another husband before Lloyd,” said Mrs. Park. “No, there was only Lloyd. We had twenty-eight wonderful years together.”

“Did he eat at all?” asked Crump. “Did he go all the twenty-eight years without eating at all?”

“No, he used to eat. Until he realized how much money he was throwing away. Just on food. And then came the wonderful dream of the Silver Queen...”

“By that time he had developed his beautiful relationship with bourbon?” Crump asked warily.

“Yes.” She stared at the glass in her hand, with a loving smile.

Crump said, “I’m going. I can’t arrest you because I don’t know what you’ve done — except make a mockery of the law, which I can’t prove until I get some people from the Department down here. Maybe you really believe that skeleton in there. Maybe it is somebody who used to be named Lloyd. Maybe you carry him around with you in a trunk. Maybe he’s been dead for years. Maybe he was murdered a long time ago. Maybe I’m in the middle of something by Tennessee Williams. I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this: I’m going to find out.”

Mrs. Park said, “Do you know, it’s peculiar you should mention that.”

“What? What did I mention?”

“Mr. Williams. Actually Lloyd did come originally from the South, though I’m sure they never met.”

Crump said hoarsely, “I am going to come back. And don’t try any hanky-panky with that... that thing in there. Don’t try to hide it. If you do, I’ll tear this place apart. Just remember.”

“I wish,” Marble said crisply, “that you would not speak of Uncle Lloyd as a thing. He’s gone now, but he was a human being, just like yourself.”

Mrs. Park said, with a smile at Crump, “They teach them so much at the university.”

Crump said, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. With other people. And maybe with a couple of strait jackets.”

He walked to the door. His hand was on the knob and he was just about to turn it when he heard a hollow cough behind him. It sounded oddly echoing — as if it had come from a cave.

He heard two sharp cries — one from Mrs. Park, the other from Marble.

“Lloyd!”

“Uncle Lloyd!”

The cough sounded again. Somehow there seemed to be, under its hollow tones, a strain of the old South... if there could be such a thing as a cough with a Southern accent.

Marble’s voice said, “But we thought you were dead!”

He heard Mrs. Park’s voice say, “Dear, you frightened us so... Marble, dear, get him his glass. I was positive... How could you sleep so deeply? I prodded you and prodded you...”

Crump stood there, very still, his hand on the doorknob. He said to himself, I don’t have to turn around. I can walk out and go back to the station and make a routine report, closing the case, and that will be the end of it. And gradually it will all fuzz together, the way a dream does, and I won’t be sure after a while that any of it really happened at all. Mrs. Park and Lloyd and Marble and the Silver Queen...

He shook his head vigorously. The thing was, they were two mad women — mad as hatters. And a hollow cough could be imagined. And all he had to do was turn around — to prove beyond doubt they were mad.

But if he didn’t turn around, it would mean that their madness had infected him.

So he turned around.

And wished he hadn’t.