Shakedown for Murder

Chapter 3

If there's one thing I can't take, it's to be awakened suddenly. Bessie shook me awake and said, “It's seven o'clock, Matt.”

I sat up in bed and thought maybe I was lucky: she could have started at five a.m. She began talking about Jerry and I told her to hold it—she didn't want to mention murder in front of the kid. Maybe she knew I was sore; when I came out of the bathroom she had some of this thick Turkish coffee waiting and a few cups of that put me back in a normal mood. Andy took the boat kit I'd brought him to a friend's house and by eight, Bessie was driving me to Riverside. Her pretty face looked tired. I asked, “Didn't you sleep last night?”

“How could I, worrying about Jerry?”

“Honey, don't carry this landsman stuff too far. Frankly, I don't get the play here, but even Roberts doesn't seem to think a court will find the old boy guilty so....”

“No, Matt, that won't be good enough.”

“What won't?”

“He's an old man, we can't even have him stand trial. Don't you see, it would kill him, be the final victory for End Harbor. We have to prove he's innocent before trial. Another thing, nobody can be positive of an acquittal.”

“Bessie, come back to earth. You say we 'can't let him stand trial'; like it was up to us. There's only so much we can do.”

“Matt, I got to know Jerry because he is of Greek descent, like I am, but I'd go to bat for him anyway. I mean, his being Greek has nothing to do with it. You know how damn biased the Harbor is toward him.”

“Aren't you just as biased, in his favor? At this point we don't know he didn't kill the doc—we merely think so. Now let's get some facts, find out exactly where we stand, before we do any more gum-beating.”

“Of course. And I'm very proud of you, father-in-law, for helping poor Jerry.”

“What the hell, looks like a rainy day anyway,” I said, not entirely kidding.

“You louse!” she cried, hitting me with her knee. “For that I won't buy Matty any liver for supper. What enjoyment do you get from that fat-assed cat? All he does is sleep.”

“At least he doesn't talk much.”

“Very funny! Matt, ever think of getting married again?”

“As the joke goes, marriage is nice to think about—if you only think and don't....”

She cut me off with a four-letter word and drove the rest of the way in silence.

At the Riverside Police Headquarters they flatly refused to let us see Jerry, since we weren't relatives. I got the sergeant-in-charge aside and showed him my badge. He said, “You must be the joker who started all this. I worked out of the 130th Precinct in New York for a couple years myself—harness bull. Then I moved out here for the summer and got on this force. Slower life, and better for the heart. This is a screwy case, they got nothing against this Greek that will wash in court.”

“Think he'll be indicted?”

“Are you kidding? You know these grand juries, do anything the D.A. asks. We told Roberts he had a watery case but he seems happy.”

“I know, but why?”

“Tell ya, in these villages, what the hell, the chief is lucky to be taking home fifty bucks a week, and no civil service standing or pension. Not much cushion money around, either. Roberts is a glamour boy and beside showing off that fancy uniform all he does is chase a speeder now and then, maybe lock up a drunk. So he's puffed up about 'solving' this murder. Hey, how come you're interested in all this?”

“He's a friend of my daughter-in-law. You know how it is, she expects me to act like Dick Tracy because I have a badge. I just wanted to be sure Jerry has a lawyer, cigarettes.”

“Well, I don't see no harm in your seeing him. We can't even understand what he says—when he talks. I hear he won't have either of the two lawyers in End Harbor. Guess the court will have to appoint somebody. I'll give you fifteen minutes with him. As for the babe, your daughter-in-law, that's out.”

Bessie was sore as a boil when I told her she couldn't go in, but finally agreed to do her shopping and meet me outside the station house in a half hour.

The cells were pretty good, modern and heated, with a sink and toilet in each one. The cell block attendant was a sleepy-looking fat character. When he started to recite the rules, I told him I had the same job in New York, and he said in a bored voice, “Then you know the score. Don't cause me no trouble, pops.”

“Pops” yet, and the fat slob looked less than a dozen years younger than me.

Jerry seemed to have doubled his age overnight, his body was shrunken, face more wrinkled, his color splotchy. He didn't get up and I sat on the clean bunk beside him, explained about Bessie wanting to see him.

He muttered, “Mista, whata you want with me?” We were back to the dialect.

“Jerry, we only have a few minutes, so cut the crap and talk straight. Have you money to hire a lawyer?”

“Money? What gooda is money? Whatta good any lawyerman do me? This all one frame.”

I shook him. “Damn it, talk straight! What do you mean, a frame?”

He stared at the floor a moment, started to cry. I shook him again, whispered fiercely, “What's the matter with you? Bessie and I are your friends. Look, you can still lick the bastards. You fought them all these years, why give up the last round?” As usual tears had me spooked.

Rubbing his hand across his face he asked quietly, “What do you want to know, Mr. Lund?”

“Did you do it? Now, wait; understand, I have to know that for sure.”

He shook his head slowly, as if it took a great effort. “The doc and me, we never rubbed together well, especially when I first came to the Harbor, but I always admired him. Town never had much use for him either. No, of course I didn't do it. Do you believe that?”

“I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't believe you. Exactly what happened the night before last? What were you fighting with Barnes about?”

He straightened up. “What fight?”

“A Mrs. Bond, who lives across the street from you, claims you shouted at the doc, something about you wouldn't be responsible for his life. And the doc was yelling at you. Did you say that to Barnes?”

“Well, yes. Because my garden has always been better than hers, all the time this Bond woman must spy on me. I said that to the doc, but only as a joke.”

“If it was such a joke, why were you shouting it at the top of your lungs?”

“Ed—Doc Barnes—used a hearing aid but it wasn't working so good. Maybe the batteries were weak. So we were talking loud. Now you talk as if you don't believe me, Mr. Lund.”

“Look, I have to ask questions because I need the complete picture if I'm going to be of any help to you. Now what happened that night?”

Jerry shrugged. “Nothing happened. I keep telling you that.”

“Damn it, Jerry, wake up! Can't you understand this isn't a game or a... look, tell me everything you did from the time you dropped me off at Bessie's cottage.”

“That was the last train for the night, so I went home for my supper. I had a couple bottles of beer. After I eat I'm listening to the radio—music—and I begin to feel sick, real dizzy. I know an attack is coming on so I phoned the doc. I'm feeling miserable until he comes over and he raises sand because I'm off my diet. The doc was sore at me. I told him, like I always do, to fix me up, that I'm too old to worry about a diet, eating is one of the few joys left in life for me. He said that if I didn't stick to the diet he wouldn't be responsible for my life. So making a wisecrack, I tell him nobody but God is responsible for life. He didn't hear and I yelled I wouldn't be responsible for his life either. He gave me an insulin shot, and a pill to make me sleep. Edward said he had to see the old goat, then he could get some sleep himself. Then he left.”

“What's this 'old goat' mean?”

Jerry shrugged. “That he had another call to make. I didn't ask him.”

“What time did he leave?”

“Maybe nine thirty, maybe ten. The pill made me sleepy and I went to bed at once. In the morning I took some ladies to the train, you saw me at the station, and there I hear about Edward being killed in an accident. It upset me, like I said, I admired him. In the afternoon they come and arrest me. You see it's a frame. They kept asking can anyone prove I was at home all night That's silly—they right well know I live alone.”

“Did you tell Roberts about the 'old goat'?”

“Sure. I told him exactly what I told you.”

“Where's the medicine bottle the doc gave you, the stuff that put you to sleep?”

“What bottle? He gave me one pill.”

I tried to think of something else to ask but my mind was going in circles. “I don't believe they have anything on you that will stand up in court, a jury will find you not guilty and....”

“But in the eyes of the Harbor I will always be a murderer! Bad enough for me in town up to now.... Even if I'm free, I will have to leave the Harbor.”

“Jerry, you either have to fight this or give up. First step is to get a lawyer, a young kid just starting out, if you can. A Riverside lawyer. A kid will act like a legal-eagle because an acquittal means good publicity for him. You want Bessie to find a lawyer for you?”

“All right, I'll get one.”

“Okay, but do it at once. Did anybody in End Harbor, or in any of the other burgs around here, have any reason for killing the doc? Did he have any enemies, any at all?”

“No, no. Edward is—was—the only doctor in the Harbor, a big man in the town.”

“But you just told me the Harbor didn't have much use for him either.”

“I don't like to repeat... gossip. They keep this quiet because Barnes was the mayor at one time, an important man in the church... but he told them all to go plum to hell, even his wife.”

“Told them to go to hell about what?”

“You know how the town got its name, End Harbor?”

“I suppose because it's at the end of the bay.” He shook his head. “A long, long time ago a tribe of Indians lived there, part of the Shinnecock Nation, called Endins—sounds like Indians. That was a couple hundred years ago. When I first came to the Harbor there were still several Indian families, but they moved away. Only one family left, Joe Endins and his daughter Jane. Jane grew up to be a fine girl but there was nothing for her in the Harbor, no job, no man to marry—because she's Indian. All she can do is work as a maid. Her papa died and she still hung around, maybe she's twenty-three, twenty-five, a very lonely young woman. Then the story starts she is going with Doc Barnes. That was about ten years ago. This is all gossip, you understand, but this I do know, Edward trained her to be a nurse and took her on all his calls. His wife is mad as the devil and the town is buzzing with whispers. After a year or so, Jane stops working for the doctor. She still lives in the Harbor but works in a Hampton factory. But the doctor, he keeps seeing her, you can usually find his car parked boldly in front of the Endin house a few times a week. Gossip is the devil's tongue in a small town. Because Priscilla Barnes helped Art Roberts, sort of kept an eye on him when his mother died, why some dirty people hinted....”

“Wait up, Mrs. Barnes and Chief Roberts are an item?”

“No, no! She's old enough to be his mother. I merely show you the evil power of gossip... and how well I've known that power!”

“But this other bit, Doc and an Indian gal, jeez! Changes everything, gives the doc's wife a motive for the killing.”

Jerry patted my knee, as if he was talking to a kid. “Indeed not. You shock me, Mr. Lund. But of course you don't know Priscilla Barnes. A very quiet and meek woman. If she stood the cross of gossip all these years, when Jane was working in the Barnes home—Edward had his office in the house—why should she get angry sow, when the affair, if it was that, seemed to be dying out?”

“Some people carry a long fuse and you never know—when....”

The attendant rapped on the bars. “Time's up.”

“Think hard: the doc didn't give you any hint as to who the 'old goat' might be? Didn't say in which direction he was driving to see the goat, for example?”

“Nope. He said it in passing; you know.”

“Let's go, break it off.” The cell block attendant opened the door.

“Whatsa the bigga rush with you?” Jerry mumbled.

“When you get that lawyer, I want to see him. And don't talk to anybody but the lawyer,” I told him.

“What is there to talk about?”

I stood up. “Maybe I'll be back to see you tomorrow, or the next day. Need any cigarettes, cigars—anything?”

Jerry shook his head. “I am glad you came, Mr. Lund,” he said, getting up and shaking my hand. “You made me feel better—a little.”

Bessie was sitting in the car, puffing on a cigarette, bags of groceries on the rear seat. She started pumping me with questions and I said, “Relax, Jerry is fine. Bessie, the whole Harbor is lying in their carefully brushed teeth.”

“But why? It's such a peaceful community—I know they dislike Jerry, but to frame him for murder—that I can't understand.”

“Let's get going, I have a lot of work to do. The why is the usual old one: your pillar of the community, Doc Barnes, was carrying on for years with an Indian woman, a descendant of the tribe that founded End Harbor. Name is Jane Endin. You know her?”

“No. We tourists rarely get to know anybody but the storekeepers. You think this Indian woman killed him?”

“She had more reason than Jerry. Not to mention the doc's wife, who's been having the affair flung in her face all these years. But this explains Chief Roberts' attitude —from the go he knew darn well it was murder but all he can think of is the Harbor doesn't want a scandal. In a small town everybody is close friends—especially Mrs. Barnes and Roberts. He's even willing to call it an accident and let it go at that. Then enter the clown—me—who has to shoot off his big mouth. Now the Harbor has to call it murder but they find a custom-made patsy—the doc was known to have visited Jerry, the village bogeyman.”

“But to put Jerry on trial for his life, Lord, how can they be so heartless!”

“Honey, that's the angle, the reasons Roberts doesn't give a fat damn his evidence is weak and circumstantial— he knows Jerry won't be found guilty. So what? The mess is over, hushed without any scandal. I told you I was the joker in the deck, well, honey, I'm going to knock over their can of peas, bust this wide open!”

“Matt, I knew you would!”

“You didn't know a mumbling thing, and neither did L Frankly, I only went to Riverside this morning to go through the motions. But that's all changed now—I know he's being railroaded. Being an ordinary patrolman, a harness bull, I've never looked upon 'police work' as anything but a job. But like everybody else I sometimes thought, had daydreams, about being a real detective. So in my old age I'm frankly going to give it a try.”

The odd thing was I said this rah-rah pitch cold sober, actually meant every word. Listening to Jerry I'd decided to goose End Harbor wide open, expose all the petty scheming and hatreds, a kind of concentrated form of big city vice. If I was doing it for Jerry, I was also doing it for my own ego. And all the time I knew I was showboating; a four-flusher—for the case was a set-up and I would knock it over with the speed of a fiction private eye.

Bessie wanted to know what I had in mind but I merely puffed on my pipe with great self-importance, told her I couldn't discuss it at the moment, but I would need the car.

She said I could have it and even managed not to talk all the way back to the cottage. I gave Matty his lunch in three seconds flat and with Bessie watching with admiring eyes I dashed off—the great detective about to run himself ragged.

Roberts was out but the boy-cop was holding down the desk. He told me Roberts was working. I asked, “Did you know the doc was deaf?”

“Yeah. Everybody knew that, he had one of them transparent hearing buttons stuck in his ear.”

“You know why Jerry was loud-talking him, why the doc was shouting back? The hearing device wasn't working that night.”

“That so? There wasn't enough left to say if it was working or not Who told you all this?”

“Jerry. Didn't you fellows question him at all? He claims Barnes had another call to make—which means Jerry wasn't the last person to see the doc alive.”

Junior fooled with his red tie, almost yawned in my face. “Guess that would change things—if you can prove it. We grilled old Jerry, but who can understand the way he talks? After a couple questions he wouldn't say a damn word. To my way of thinking, this proves Jerry guilty— for he'd sure as hell make up a story about the doc having another call. Mrs. Barnes says he only had to see Jerry.”

“She might say anything. Jerry says the doc told him he was on his way to see the 'old goat.' Any idea who that would be?”

He showed a mouthful of teeth in a big grin. “Offhand that could be anybody over the age of thirty. There's a summer population of around 2800, not to mention the 1468 actual residents of the Harbor, and at least half of them are over thirty—you plan to question about 3000 people, mister?”

“I might, to save a man's life,” I snapped, knowing I was wasting time: the End Harbor police weren't interested in finding the killer. “Where does Jane Endin live?”

“Out on Bay Street, couple houses past the entrance to Tide Beach. So you know about her?”

“I sure do,” I said, starting for the door.

“All this rushing about will tire you out, man your age.”

I spun around. “Don't let that pansy uniform go to your head, sonny. I've put in more years as a cop than you have weeks!”

“Take it easy, mister. I'm only trying to save you work. She ain't home. We been trying to locate her since yesterday.”

I almost swallowed my tongue: a possible suspect leaves town and they sit on their butts! “Know where she works in Hampton?”

“Sure, at the watch factory. We phoned there, she wasn't to work yesterday or today. What you want to see her for?”

“To ask who she thinks will win the pennant!” I said, walking out.

He called after me, “Hell, I can tell you that—the Giants.”

Outside I sat in the car and got my pipe going—watching the people on the main drag—trying to figure my next step. I knew what I had to do but I didn't want to rush it, act like a jerk—the way I'd just done with the uniform-happy boy. One thing was for sure; I couldn't shake this village loose by myself.

I made a list of all the names I'd heard since coming to the Harbor—Jerry's, Doc and Mrs. Barnes, Chief Roberts, Jane Endin, Mrs. Bond, Larry Anderson, Pops (but what was his name?), even copied the names from the store windows on Main Street—obviously the big apples in the village. Getting a handful of change I put in a long distance call, which would also take it away from the ears of the local operators, to Nat Reed in New York. Nat and I shared a post for a brace of years before he quit to go into private work, ended up in a cushy spot with a credit agency. Credit outfits have become the largest snoop agencies in the country outside the government. They have complete files on millions of people. I gave Nat a fast rundown on what I was doing, the list of names.

As I expected, he said, “Matt, you know I can't give out info like that. It's only for our subscribers.”

“I know—that's why I'm wasting dough on a long distance call.”

Nat sputtered a little before he said, “Okay, I'll send you whatever we have, get it out today.”

“Put it in a plain envelope. Seal it good.”

“Things that bad?”

“I'm playing it safe, wind blows a lot of ways out here.”

“I'll mail it special delivery.” He laughed. “Going in for police work as a hobby in your old age?”

“Isn't it about time? And if I'm in my old age, where does that put you, you old belch? Thanks, Nat. Say hello to the wife for me.”

I drove along Main Street until I reached the picture-window white house set back on a neat lawn with Doc Barnes' shingle hanging from a post made to look like an old whaling ship's mast. I rang the doorbell and a stout woman with a healthy face and heavy gray hair in a big bun topping her head opened the door. A plain worn short red dress showed off arms and legs that belonged on a football team.

“Mrs. Barnes?”

“No, no, I'm only staying with Priscilla in her hour of need. I'm Mrs. Jenks.”

“Can Mrs. Barnes see people? It's important.”

The bright eyes in the large face turned suspicious. “You're new in the Harbor, ain'tcha?”

“Yes. My name is Matt Lund. I'd like to speak to Mrs. Barnes.”

“Well, you certainly don't look like a reporter. They've been ringing our phone like.... Well, I keep telling them all this excitement is bad for shock. My son is a doctor, too, you know. Practicing in Brooklyn. Edward urged him to come home and share his practice but Don thought there wouldn't be enough for two doctors to.... Say! You're that city police inspector!”

Gossip was promoting me fast. “Your son going to take over Doctor Barnes' practice now?”

“I should hope so. After all, Edward would have wanted it that way—he practically insisted Don go to med school. This is what I've been dreaming about—Don back in the Harbor, where he belongs and.... But this is no time to talk about such things.”

“Maybe not. Will you ask Mrs. Barnes if she'll Bee me for a few minutes?”

“Priscilla is piddling around in the kitchen. This morning she was busy with the funeral arrangements. You'll only upset her and she needs her rest.”

There was a moment of silence while we stared at each other. I suppose I should have gone away but I stood there, waiting. Finally she snorted, “Hmmm! I'll ask Priscilla,” and shut the door in my face.

A frail little woman with an unhealthy waxen skin and thin white hair opened the door a moment later. Her delicate features and mild eyes added up to a washed-out look, and the mouth was merely a faint pink line. She was wearing a white apron over a black dress. The apron was even starched. But the more I looked at her I realized she wasn't exactly frail—more on the wiry side. She had been a pretty woman at one time, in fact still had a kind of beauty—if you go for the fragile type of looks—which I don't. Her voice was a shock; it was far from delicate—it was hard, almost brittle, as she said, “I'm Mrs. Barnes. What do you wish to speak to me about?”

“May I come in?”

She seemed to wince and shake, as if I'd hit her. She closed her eyes for a moment and I had this feeling the very last thing she wanted was to talk to me—or even see me. Then she opened her eyes, stared at me boldly, and that strong, harsh voice said, “Of course. Excuse my manners.

I followed her into a spotlessly neat living room: a mixture of old-fashioned heavy furniture, a big new TV, and two modern plywood chairs. Everything was neat-as-a-pin-so. She was a real Dutch housewife, as they used to say in my day. She pointed toward a stuffed leather chair and I sat down while she perched on the edge of a plain maple stool. Maybe she wasn't as old as I figured—her legs were pretty good, hardly a vein showing. I fooled with my cap as I said, “I realize the strain you're under, Mrs. Barnes, and I wouldn't be here... if a man's life wasn't at stake.”

“I understand, it's your job.”

“Yes, it is, if you believe it's every citizen's job to uphold the law.”

“I respect the law, I always have. But you might as well know this: I do not—I cannot—believe Edward was murdered.”

“Then all the more reason to aid a man under arrest for his murder. I'll be blunt, Mrs. Barnes, do you really want to find the murderer of your husband? The rest of End Harbor doesn't seem....”

“I can't stand the sound of that word—murder!” Her hard voice rose in a wail; brought the picture of an icicle to my mind. I noticed the swinging door that led to the kitchen move slightly—where Mrs. Jenks was at her listening post. “Ed—Doctor Barnes—devoted his life to the health and welfare of people. Who would want to kill a saint? Why, why?”

“Do you think Jerry killed your husband?”

“No. I refuse to believe he was killed by... anybody! It was an accident.”

“Mrs. Barnes, did you act as a secretary for your husband, keep track of his calls?”

“Naturally, if the phone rang and Edward was out, or busy, I took it.”

“I understand Jerry phoned the doctor at nine P.M. Did you take the call?”

“Yes. That is, we both answered. Edward had this stranger in his office, but as I picked up the extension, Edward answered, so I hung up. But I knew it was Jerry.”

“What stranger?”

“Why, some elderly man, a Mr. Nelson, drove up to ask if Edward knew about a man he was looking for, an old army friend, a Mr. Hudon... or some name like that.”

“Why did he think your husband would know him?”

“I don't know exactly, I didn't pay much attention to it. Mr. Nelson was driving along the Island and his friend was supposed to be living in the Harbor, at least he sent Mr. Nelson a card from here a few years ago. Since Mr. Hudon suffered from gallstones, Mr. Nelson thought Edward might have treated his friend. It's all rather complicated and of no importance.”

“It may be of great importance. Did you say Mr. Nelson was an elderly man?”

“Oh, yes. But very tall and well preserved for his age. Edward had never heard of the other man, so Mr. Nelson left.”

“Does Chief Roberts know about Mr. Nelson?”

“Yes, I mentioned it to Artie.”

“Did Nelson say where he was staying in the Harbor?”

“No.”

“Are you certain Doctor Barnes had never seen Nelson before? Did he act excited, or upset after Nelson left?”

“Edward never put eyes on the man before. I gathered that Mr. Nelson was merely passing through the Harbor. Really, Mr. Lund, I don't see the point of all this.”

“Jerry claims the doctor told him he was on his way to make another call, that he had to see the 'old goat.' That might have been this Nelson.”

“That's ridiculous, Nelson wasn't a patient.”

“Have you any idea as to who the 'old goat' might be?”

“No.” She suddenly batted her ear nervously with a finger. “And Edward had no other calls except Jerry's.”

“How do you know, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Sir, are you doubting my word?”

“No, ma'am, merely checking. I don't have to tell you that if I can prove Doctor Barnes had another stop to make after he left Jerry, it might set Jerry free. Are you positive there wasn't another phone call after Jerry's?”

“Edward never said a word about it and he always told me where he was going, in case of an emergency. I was sitting here watching TV and after Mr. Nelson took his leave, as the programs were changing, Edward came out of his office and was rather angry. He hated night calls. He said there was nothing wrong with Jerry if he'd watch his diet.”

“How do you know he wasn't angry over something this Nelson said?”

“I know. I mean he wasn't really angry. Lands, Mr. Lund, this Mr. Nelson merely dropped in to ask some information. Only reason Edward took him into his office was to check his files for the other man's name. As Edward left, a few minutes later, Mrs. Jenks came over to watch TV. She stayed when I became nervous, that is, when it neared midnight and Edward didn't return.”

“What did you do, when he didn't return?” It was neat, the way she set up an alibi without my even asking.

“What could I do? I thought he'd been detained but I was surprised he hadn't phoned me. Around midnight I took a sedative and went to my bed.”

“And Mrs. Jenks went home?”

“Of course, where else would she go at that hour?”

“Let me get this straight; while Nelson was with your husband, Jerry phoned. Then Nelson left, and Doctor Barnes left, cursing Jerry.

“Indeed not! Edward never uttered a harsh word in his life.

“Excuse me. Did Nelson and Doctor Barnes leave together?”

“No, no. Really, Mr. Lund, I find this very tiring, going over and over the same thing. Some minutes after Mr. Nelson left Edward put on his hat and coat, then went back to his office—for his bag, I imagine. A few minutes later he walked through this room, looked at the TV show for a moment, kissed me, said he wouldn't be late.”

“You were listening to TV—suppose the phone had rung in those few minutes, are you certain you would have heard it? Was the TV on loudly?”

She poked her ear again, hesitated. “I did have the set on fairly loud. I'm a trifle deaf in one ear.”

“Then you can't be certain the phone didn't ring again?” I said, feeling excited.

“Well... no.”

“You haven't even the smallest idea who the doctor meant by the 'old goat'?”

“Indeed not. Edward would never refer to a patient like that!”

I stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Barnes, you've been most helpful. One more thing—was your husband's hearing aid working that night?”

“Of course. He had several and would have worn another if anything had been wrong.” She got to her feet. “Mr. Lund, you're new to the Harbor, never knew Edward. He was a tender and loving man. I've been sickly all my life, couldn't give him children. Yet he was always considerate of me, never complained, although he dearly wanted a child. Everybody spoke well of him, he was a man in a million, without an enemy in the world. He gave unceasingly of his time and money. Why, he even loaned Mrs. Jenks the money for her son's schooling, for example. I'm telling you this because there's absolutely no reason for a man like that to have been murdered, it's... it's... just impossible!” She worked her ear over for a moment. “I'll do everything in my power to help poor Jerry.”

“That's most commendable, Mrs. Barnes. Did you tell that to Chief Roberts?”

“I did. Landsakes, everybody knows Jerry Sparelous is a bit touched, but he barks, doesn't bite. I've never known him to harm a soul.”

I thanked her again and at the door I asked, “Do you think Jane Endin would have harmed Doctor Barnes?”

The pale lips formed a tight slit after she said, “Get out!” The words came with bullet force.

It was raining again and I sat in the car, slowly cleaned out my pipe and lit it. Mrs. Jenks came running out of the house, a shawl half over her big head. When she saw me, she opened the car door, pushed in. “Drive me to the drugstore! I could break your neck, upsetting Priscilla like that!”

I wanted to remark that I hadn't the slightest doubt but that those arms could break my neck. I drove off without saying a word, then I asked, “Where is the drugstore?”

“Straight ahead on Main Street. Where did you think it would be? You made her sick.”

“Sorry. But I have to ask certain questions and....”

“Why?” she shouted. “Why do you have to ask any questions? This isn't your town!”

“Unfortunately murder isn't the property of any one town. Do you want to see Jerry sent to jail?”

“If he killed Ed Barnes he ought to be hung!”

“The 'if' is why I must ask questions. Like, where were you that night, Mrs. Jenks?”

“Me?” It was a mild explosion.

“Like I said, I have to ask certain questions.”

With a movement amazingly fast for a woman her size, she suddenly put an immense sandaled foot on top of mine, banging it down on the brake, causing the car to screech to a stop. “You dirty old skunk, stop this car this second!”

She opened the door and jumped out. I wiggled my toes. She shook a fat fist at me. “If I tell my son what you just said—I hate to think what he'd do to you! And for your information, I was home all night after I left Priscilla's. Why I even sat up until three in the morning, watching out the window to see if Edward came home. Then my younger boy, Mike, got up and made me go to bed. There, you dirty-minded ferret!”

I watched her walk away in the rain, the jelly-flesh on her wide backside shaking. I drove to Hampton, letting the talk with Mrs. Barnes cook in my mind. The “evidence” against Jerry was getting downright silly, and there were at least five leads that made a damn sight more sense than Jerry's alleged motive. Nelson, whoever he was, could be the 'old goat.' Mrs. Barnes had reason enough to kill her husband, so had Jane Endin—if what Jerry said was true.

Nor could I even rule out burly Mrs. Jenks—she might have wanted her son to practice in the Harbor awfully bad.

Any lawyer could prove Mrs. Barnes was far from positive the doc didn't make two calls that night. Why, I could take the stand and disprove Roberts' “evidence” on the basis of my conversation with Mrs. Barnes. I considered Roberts a hot lead, too. As the guy in Riverside said, not much in the way of a salary or pension for a small-town cop. Not impossible Artie decided to get something going for himself, and Priscilla must certainly be the Harbor's richest widow right now. That fitted, he needed other reasons beside hushing up a town scandal for making such a sloppy case. But—it takes a certain kind of sharpie to make a realistic job of playing an older woman, and Roberts was all lardhead. Of course, you can never tell about motives—he could be framing Jerry merely to spite me. That was fantastic, but then what was my motive for being an eager-beaver in my old age?

However, I felt quite pleased with myself. Detective work was only using horse sense—shame I hadn't been more ambitious when I first got on the force. This job was far from over, though. Tracking down Nelson would be hard, I didn't even know his first name. Probably mean a lot of digging into Doc's past—I had the hunch they'd known each other years ago—and that would require spade work. The thing to do was take a crack at what I had on hand—Jane Endin.

You'd never guess Hampton was only seventeen miles from End Harbor, everything about the town cried money: solid, father-to-son folding dough. The large houses and great estates looking like something you see in the movies, the swank shops—branches of famous Fifth Avenue stores —the expensive cars, even teenagers zipping around in foreign jobs. I had to ask a couple times before I found the watch factory—a new brick building covered with vines and flowers, the windows large and clean, bright neon lights inside. I would have taken it for a small ritzy school.

People rarely question a police badge, the gal at the reception desk didn't when I flashed my tin and said, “Peace Officer. I'd like Miss Endin's home address.”

“This is something, the police phoned yesterday and this morning asking for her. She lives in End Harbor.”

“I know that, but she hasn't been home,” I said, thinking I was wrong not to have tried her house instead of taking the boy-cop's word for it. “Did she have any address here in Hampton? You know, some place to call in an emergency?”

“No sir, we only have the Harbor address for her.”

“I see. Can I speak to whoever worked next to her, any close pal she has among the girls here?”

“I suppose it's about that murder in the Harbor. Gee whiz, we never have nothing here but hot-rod jerks wrecking themselves.” She phoned in to somebody, then told me, “Girl be out in a second. This Jane in trouble?”

“No.”

A young girl in a tight red turtleneck sweater, and tighter jeans showing off her round basketball rear, walked up to me. When she walked the basketball was far from still. “You the detective? See, I work next to Jane. Is she in a jam? When I saw her this morning she didn't act like....”

“Where did you see her?”

“On the Dunes Road. I can't, sleep much when it's muggy and my old man is too cheap to get air conditioning, so I was up early this morning. I drove around and she passed in her old struggle-buggy. She didn't stop, just waved at me. Jane looked bad, like she'd been up all night.” The girl had a jerky way of talking—and thinking, for she reached up to brush her close-cut dark hair with her fingertips... and to make sure I saw her tiny pointed breasts.

“Did Miss Endin ever mention any friends in Hampton? Say, some place where she might go on her lunch hour, or after work?”

“Naw. She didn't talk much. Even though I've worked beside her for over a year now, Jane ain't the buddy-buddy type. You see, she's old, and an Indian. Last....”

“Old?”

“For crying out tears, I bet she's thirty if she's a day. Last summer I suggested we might take in the pow-wow at the reservation. I figured her being Indian and all. Man, she near flipped, told me off. You can't figure a woman like—”

“What reservation?”

She brushed her hair again, with both hands this time, to give me the full view. It wasn't much of a view. “Mister, you don't know a little about this end of the Island. Guess you must be a big-time dick brought in special for the murder. I know that's what it's about.” She gave me a cute wink.

“Where is the reservation?”

“Outside Qotaque there's this Indian reservation. Every summer all the Indians living in Brooklyn and the other cities, they're supposed to return and hold dances, and all this old square stuff. I went once. It was from hunger, strictly tourist bait jive.” She glanced at the wall clock. “You know I'm losing time, this is a piece-work deal. Anything else?”

“That's all. Thank you.”

“What they want Jane for, witness against this old Greek?”

“No, I'm merely checking.”

She winked again. “You wouldn't tell me anyway. Yon know, you ain't what I pictured a dick looking like.”

“Sorry, I left my muscles home,” I said, heading for the door.

The rain was coming down harder and my back started to ache. Twenty minutes later I was in Qotaque, which was even smaller than the Harbor. A stiff wind was driving the rain and it was almost dark enough to be night. I stopped for coffee and a hamburger, got directions on finding the reservation. I followed the directions and when I reached the Shinnecock Canal I knew I'd passed the turn-off.

I drove back slowly, the windshield wiper fighting a losing battle, and found it—not a road but a country lane with a faded wooden sign. The rain had made the dirt road into a mud rut. I inched along, not seeing any houses.

If I'd been going faster I might have made it: the car slid into a hole, or some damn thing, and stuck. My right rear wheel raced like a runaway prop, sending up a shower of mud. The car skidded a few inches from side to side, sank back into the hole. I tried backing out; it was a waste of time.

I sloshed over to the bushes on the side of the “road” to pull out a handful of branches; nothing gave except my skin. I took out my penknife and hacked away like a cub scout. By the time I was thoroughly soaked, the rain chilling the remains of yesterday's sunburn, I had an armful of small branches. I packed these in front of the rear wheels and the car went a big fat two feet, then slid back into the mud. Locking the ignition, I started walking in the rain, cursing myself for not having the sense to stay in my comfortable New York flat.

After I walked a few hundred yards there was a turn in the mud and I came upon a couple of shacks and a store. I felt as if I'd stumbled on some forgotten Tobacco Road. There was a light in the store. I tracked in mud. The guy behind the counter looked more like a Negro than an Indian, although he had long white brushed hair reaching his shoulders. He was wearing a worn beaded vest over a faded shrimp-colored sport shirt. He was short and wide.

“Come for souvenirs? Fall in the mud, mister?” His voice was a rough croak and his wide mouth toothless.

“My car is stuck. Can you...?”

“Ah, you need gas. I have a pump behind the store.”

“I'm stuck in the mud. Can you help me?” The light was one small bulb and the few cans and boxes on the shadowy shelves seemed terribly stale-looking. In a separate showcase he had some dusty toy tom-toms, beaded belts and feathered hats, left over from the last tourist invasion.

“Ah, the mud. Washington still robs the Indian, for years we have asked for a paved road. I'm Chief Tom. I have a truck if you want a tow. Ten bucks.”

“Ten bucks! That mud ambush out there your work?”

“You want tow or not?” There was an evil gleam in his bloodshot eyes. “You're blocking the road so I'll have to tow your car out of the way. Still cost you ten bucks.” He pulled back his vest with a proud movement to show me a large, highly polished gold badge. “I'm a deputy, in charge of traffic here.”

“Thanks for going through the motions of asking if I wanted a tow.” I felt tired, no longer the super-detective. I dried my face with my handkerchief, pulled out my pipe. It was wet. “This the reservation?”

He nodded. “Indians dumb. Government give them land and a house here for free, but the young bucks, they leave. Maybe go into army, never come back here. Live in lousy tenements in Brooklyn.”

“Sure, they're crazy to leave this paradise. You know a Miss Jane Endin?”

His eyes became cagey. “I know her. That's what I mean. She has house and land in End Harbor, but if she was smart she would sell it and come live here for nothing. She's not smart.”

“I know, she isn't a customer of yours. Where can I find her?”

“What you want to see her for?”

I flashed my buzzer but he grabbed my hand and pulled back his vest—held my badge against his. He gave me a grin full of purple gums; his badge was bigger. “What she done?”

I jerked my hand away, put my badge in my pocket. “Nothing. I want to ask about a friend of hers.”

Chief Tom gave me a wise look. “You're a Federal man. Income tax trouble?”

“No. When did you see Miss Endin last?”

“Let me see... five, six years ago. Ain't she in the Harbor no more?”

I suppose I should have asked more questions, visited the other shacks. But my back was aching, I had a chill, and was so damn tired all I could think of was soaking in a hot tub—if I could find one. I was too weary to even haggle with him about the price. I said, “Get your truck.”

He pulled a fancy white trenchcoat from under the counter that made him look ridiculous, carefully brushed his long hair before putting on a battered fishing cap. Locking the door, he told me to wait. A moment later he came roaring around in an old six-wheeled army truck so high I had to pull myself up to the running board.

Reaching my car, Tom said he would push me out. I asked if there was any way he could circle around, come up behind the car and pull me out. He told me there was another road but it meant driving miles out of the way, and he pushed cars out after every rain. I got behind the wheel and he inched the big truck forward. His bumper seemed to be on my headlights. When I shouted it was all wrong he yelled back, “Just keep her in neutral and don't worry. I push you to the main road.”

I told him to be careful. He had the truck in low and I kept the door open, leaning out to see where I was backing. My car moved backwards as if it was a toy, the glare of his lights in my eyes. When the main road was in sight I signaled he could stop pushing me. At that second I went into another dam hole and his bumper came down on my lights with a sickening crash of metal.

We both jumped out. Tom croaked, “What's the matter with you, you crazy!” and examined his bumper—which a tank couldn't have dented. Both my headlights were smashed, the fenders dented, and my bumper was hanging.

He said, “What did you put her in gear for?”

“Who put her in gear? Didn't you see me waving for you to stop?”

“I thought you were waving me on. I said I'd push you out to the road.”

“You dumb bastard!” I kicked the bumper. It fell off and I picked it up, tried to shake off the mud, then put it in the back of the car.

Tom put his hand under my fenders. “They're not touching the tires, you can drive.” He held out his hand. “Ten bucks.”

“I ought to sue you for....”

“Mister, ten bucks. That's the rate.”

“I'll give you the back of my hand ten times! I'll....”

He suddenly grabbed my windbreaker and before I knew what the devil was happening, he actually picked me up and threw me into the mud. “Don't get yourself hurt, mister. You don't know how to drive, ain't money out of my pocket. Ten bucks, please.” He glanced down at his trenchcoat—it wasn't even muddy.

I sat up in the mud. I had to tangle with a muscle man, and the long haired son-of-a-bitch probably was older than me, too! My behind was soaking wet. I stood up, wanted to slug him but decided he'd flatten me. Without a word I gave him two five-dollar bills, got in the car and backed out. I headed for End Harbor, expecting to b» collared any second for driving without lights.

I'd never been this angry before in my life. The great Sherlock Lund—a mass of mud! One thing, I couldn't have Bessie and Andy see me like this.

I cooled off as I drove, paying full attention to the rainy road. I could see fairly well, there were enough cars going the other way to light up the road. I didn't stop at Hampton but pulled into a garage on the outskirts of End Harbor. A young fellow eating his supper in the office came out wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What happened to you? New car, too.”

“I ran into Sitting Bull. Tell me how bad it is. Got a test room?”

He nodded toward a small white door. Inside I washed most of the mud off, using a lot of paper towels. I looked pretty good, considering the damn oversize windbreaker, but I was still wet all over. When I came out the mechanic was back in the office, finishing his supper. I went in, tried drying out my pipe bowl with matches as he said, “Nothing wrong with your lights, just need new glass and bulbs. Where you heading for?”

“I'm staying in the Harbor.”

He finished his container of coffee, said, “Brooklyn license plates. Well, I know the summer has really started with you....”

“Aw, cut it off. Can you fix the lights now? I want to get back to my cottage.”

“Can't put the glass in, but I can give you bulbs,. Look, suppose you bring the car around in the morning and leave it. I'll straighten out the fenders, paint 'em, take care of the lights and the bumper. Do it in a day if I at busy. Cost you thirty-five dollars.”

“Okay.”

He went out to the car and put in bulbs, carried the bumper back into the shop. The lights weren't much good, but at least I wouldn't get a ticket. As I lit my pipe and started the car, he said, “That's seventy-five cents for the bulbs. Deductible from the thirty-five dollars but payable now.”

“It's touching to see your faith in your fellow men,” I said, giving him three quarters.

He smiled. “I'm a union man—E. Pluribus Unum. See you in the morning, mac.”

He was so pleased with his corny wisecrack I didn't say a word, puffed harder on the pipe. I still had to kill time until Andy went to bed. There was one thing I'd overlooked—the scene of the crime. Not that I expected to find anything there now. I should have gone there yesterday. As a detective I was a good cell block attendant. I rolled down the window, asked, “Know where the killing of the doctor happened?”

He came to the office door, a sugar doughnut in his dirty hand. “Crazy the way people are on the morbid kick. I went out there myself to have a look this morning. Instead of turning into Main Street, take the other fork— that's Montauk Road. Follow that for about a mile and you'll see another road crossing it, a wide road. That's Bay Street. Make a right turn on Bay, away from the water. Couple hundred yards down you'll see a busted tree—that's the spot.”

“Bay Street?” I repeated. Jane Endin lived on Bay Street—Roberts was trying hard to overlook the obvious clues.

“Can't miss it, jack. There's a new brick house on one corner, boarded up—some rich cat who's been in Europe for last two years. On the opposite corner, toward the bay, you'll see a picket fence and a house. Not much of a house but nice piece of land. Belongs to an Indian gal. Don't forget, make a right turn on Bay.”

Ten minutes later I was on Bay Street, looking at the big tree with the splintered gash in the thick trunk. The tree was at an angle, its roots torn up. It would probably die soon. Keeping my faint lights on the scene I walked around in the rain, not knowing what I expected to find... and finding nothing.

Turning around I drove back to the highway. I stared at the boarded-up bright ranch house. The way Roberts operated, it could have belonged to Mr. Nelson. Then I looked at the Endin house. It was a weather-beaten two-story affair with at least an acre of land behind the low picket fence. There was an old car in the driveway; no lights in the house. I pulled off the road, decided to snoop around the house.

Of course there wasn't anything to see. A grape arbor in the back of the house, an unused chicken coop, a locked Shed. On the door there was a knocker shaped like an arrowhead, or maybe it was an arrowhead. I looked into one of the dark windows. As I turned away a porch light came on and the door opened.

A woman stood there who made me forget all about Indians, being a detective, even about feeling tired. She wasn't any beauty. She was tall and straight, black hair with streaks of gray pulled severely away from her angular face. Her eyes were bright and tired, and her face came down to an over-long jaw. Her skin was creamy and she was wearing a man's gray shirt and dungarees. Perhaps she was far from a beauty, but there was such a bitter, sullen look about her—she looked sexy. In fact, she looked like she was ready to explode with sex. I mean, she seemed about thirty-five and... well, as if she'd been storing it up all those years.

Her eyes took in my wet and dirty clothes before she asked, “What do you want?” It was a cold voice, proud and clear.

I took off my cap. “Excuse me, I was looking for a Miss Endin.”

“I'm Jane Endin. Why are you snooping around my property?”