The Case of the Smoking Chimney

Chapter 21

There were lights on in the offices of the district attorney. Gramp Wiggins tried the entrance door and found that it was unlocked. He eased his way into the outer office.

A buzzer connected with the door sounded in the district attorney’s private office, and Frank Duryea promptly opened the door marked PRIVATE.

“Hello, Gramps,” he said without surprise. “How you feeling? Okay?”

“Who, me?” Gramps asked in surprise. “I’m all right. I’m always all right. Ain’t never had an ache or a pain in my life.”

“How about your tooth?”

Gramps seemed suddenly crestfallen. “Oh, that,” he said apologetically. “Nothing much. Just a little twinge of pain, little cavity I guess.”

“How’s it now?”

“All right... You been talkin’ with Milred?”

“Yes, she telephoned. She was a little worried about you.”

Gramps recovered his self-possession. “I’m all right. Got some drops that fixed me right up. She said you were workin’ up here, and thought I’d drop in and see if perhaps there was anything I can do to help you.”

“Not a thing,” Duryea said.

“Sorry about leavin’ that trailer parked in your driveway. I thought your car was out of the garage. Figured I’d drop in an’ apologize.”

“That’s all right,” Duryea said, smiling quietly, and closing the door to his private office behind him as he came out into the reception room.

“Got my jalopy an’ trailer parked down here,” Gramps said. “Thought you might like to ride home with me. Figured as how, since I’d froze your car in the garage, I might’s well give you a lift home.”

“Well, I’m working now. Can’t leave.”

“Somebody in there?” Gramps asked, in apparent surprise.

Duryea nodded.

“A witness?” Gramps asked eagerly.

“You might call him that.”

“In this Pressman case?”

Duryea said: “He’s a young man by the name of Stanwood. He was cashier and auditor for the Pressman interests. He’s giving me some purely routine information. I want to get something of Pressman’s financial background.”

“Oh,” Gramps said with disappointment evident in his voice. “I thought perhaps it was someone you was givin’ a third degree to.”

“We don’t give third degrees,” Duryea smiled.

“Perhaps I could be of some help,” Gramp Wiggins said. “Do you want somebody to take notes? Sort of a witness to what’s said, in case this chap should make some slip?”

“No,” Duryea told him, smiling. “There’s nothing you can do except go on home and keep Milred company.”

“Milred’s all right. Suppose I sit here and sorta wait? Maybe somethin’ll turn up.”

“Wait for what?” Duryea said.

“To take you home.”

Duryea smiled. “All right, Gramps. Sit down there and amuse yourself.”

Gramps took the chair which was closest to the door of the private office. When Duryea returned to the inner room, Gramp Wiggins leaned forward in the chair. Unashamedly he craned his neck to see what was going on in the other room. He had a brief glimpse of the sheriff’s profile, of the rather white, set features of Harvey Stanwood. Then the door closed, and a latch clicked impressively.

Gramps sat back in the chair, pulled a villainous pipe from the side pocket of his coat, stuffed in plug tobacco, lit a match, and started puffing.

The pipe was just well under way when the outer door opened, and a young woman, apparently somewhat frightened, said timidly: “Is this the district attorney’s office?”

“That’s right,” Gramps said. “Come right in. Did you want to see the district attorney? He’s busy now. Perhaps there was some message I could deliver.”

She said: “I’m Eva Raymond of Los Angeles. The district attorney asked me to come up here this evening.”

The door from the private office opened once more. Duryea stood on the threshold, scowled at Gramp Wiggins, said: “Did you work the buzzer on that door, Gramps?”

Gramps pointed to the opposite end of the office. “This young lady just came in.”

Duryea opened the door wider so that he could see Eva Raymond, smiled, said: “Good evening. You’re Miss Raymond?”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions. Would you mind waiting a few minutes, Miss Raymond?”

“Will it be long?”

“Not over ten or fifteen minutes, I think.”

“Very well.”

Duryea hesitated, looked at Gramps, said: “You might go out and walk around, Gramps, if you have anything you want to do around town, and come back in, say, fifteen minutes.”

“No, thank you. I’ll sit here. Just don’t feel much like walkin’ tonight. Got a bunion that’s botherin’ me.”

“You don’t need to wait, Gramps,” Duryea said. “The sheriff will drive me home.”

“That’s all right,” Gramps told him. “I’ll sit here for a while. Gotta go out to your house anyway. Ain’t no use wastin’ rubber.”

Duryea hesitated as though finding the situation hardly to his liking, then, apparently reaching a decision, said, “Very well,” and popped back into the private office, pulling the door shut behind him.

Gramps grinned across at the girl. “Mind my pipe?” he said.

“Not at all.”

“It’s kinda strong.”

“I like pipe tobacco.” She beamed at him. “It’s strong — and masculine.”

She moved over to the table in the centre of the room, picked up a magazine, and selected a seat across from Gramp Wiggins.

Gramps appreciatively surveyed the scenery.

She looked up abruptly, caught his eye, and adjusted her skirt.

Gramps puffed placidly away at his pipe, said: “Did you know Pressman?”

She met his eyes. “No.”

Gramps said: “Funny thing the district attorney wanting to see you, then.”

“That’s what I can’t understand.”

“Well, you can’t ever tell these days just what’s going to happen.”

“Just what’s your connection with the case? Are you a witness?”

Gramps said: “No, I’m just sorta investigatin’. Of course, I don’t want to pry into your business none, but sometimes when a person talks things over with somebody else, it sorta gets things clear in their own minds, and they can answer questions better.”

She thought that over, said abruptly: “The district attorney is a very young man, isn’t he?”

“Uh huh.”

“I expected to find a much older man.”

“He’s young, but he’s tough,” Gramps said. “Don’t make no mistake about that. He’s tough.”

“Just who are you?”

“Well, I’m kinda related to him. Sort of a member of the family by marriage, you might say.”

“Related to his wife?”

“Yes.”

“Her father?”

“Father, hell! I’m her grandfather.”

Eva Raymond showed genuine surprise. “You don’t look it.”

“Don’t feel it,” Gramps announced pertly. “I been here an’ there, an’ seen quite a few birthdays; but I don’t feel old. Liquor and birthdays never seem to affect me much. Some people can’t take too much of either one without havin’ trouble. Me, I ain’t like that.”

She looked him over appreciatively, said: “Some people just don’t seem to get old. You’re just in the prime of life. You’re waiting to see him after he gets finished?”

“To take him home.”

“Perhaps you can tell me who’s in there now?”

“Yep,” Gramps said. “I could.”

“Well?” she asked.

Gramps grinned at her. “Perhaps you could tell me what he really wants to see you about.”

“Why should I?”

“Why should I tell you who’s in there?”

“I really don’t know what he wants to see me about, but I’m very anxious to know whether — well, whether a certain party is in there.”

“Who?”

She studied him for a moment, said: “Harvey Stanwood.”

“You know Stanwood?”

“Yes.”

“Know him well?”

“Yes.”

Gramps puffed on his pipe. “Perhaps that’s what he wants to see you about.”

“Perhaps it is. It won’t do him any good. I’m free, white, and twenty-one. I can do anything I please. There’s no law against a girl having boyfriends or having a good time.”

“That’s right,” Gramps said.

“Is Harvey in there?”

Gramps said: “Come over here, sister. Sit down beside me where I can talk to you without my voice carryin’ into the other office.”

She moved over to sit down beside him.

Gramps said: “Yep. Harvey Stanwood’s in there. Lookin’ kinda green around the gills, too, if you ask me.”

Eva Raymond’s quick intake of breath was almost a gasp. She said: “I’m going right on in there, then.”

“I’d advise you not to.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Looks kind of as though you was afraid to have your boyfriend face the music,” Gramps said. “Ain’t no reason why he can’t take care o” himself. He ain’t got nothin’ to conceal, has he?”

“No, of course not.”

“What’s the district attorney want to see him about?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’d like to find out.”

“Perhaps just gettin’ some financial details ’n’ stuff,” Gramps said.

“Perhaps.” Her tone showed that she didn’t place much credence in that theory.

Gramps said abruptly: “What was Stanwood’s motive for murdering him?”

She jumped as though he had slipped a piece of ice down her neck. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Just asking what his motive was,” Gramps said.

“I don’t know... He didn’t have any, of course.”

Gramps said musingly: “Kinda funny the district attorney would bring him all the way up here from Los Angeles. If it was routine information he’d wanted, he’d have got it through the Los Angeles police.”

“Well, he’s bringing me all the way up here from Los Angeles,” Eva Raymond said.

Gramps looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. “Doggoned if he ain’t,” he said.

There was silence for a moment; then Eva Raymond asked, “What sort of a man is he? Is he the sort that browbeats you and shouts at you?”

“Not Frank,” Gramps said positively. “He’s the smooth, slick kind. He’ll apologize all over the office for getting you up here from Los Angeles. He’ll ask you some innocent questions, and make you think you’re just about finished, and then he’ll slip over a fast one, and the first thing you know you’ll be floundering around trying to explain what you said and getting in deeper all the time.”

“You’re wrong there,” she said. “Nothing like that is going to happen to me, because I have nothing to conceal.”

“Oh, sure,” Gramps admitted, just a little too readily to be convincing.

She looked at her wristwatch, said: “I wonder what he’s asking Harvey about... And I wonder why he can’t ask Harvey and me questions together.”

Gramps said: “Perhaps he wants separate answers. Did you know George Karper?”

She didn’t move her head, nor did she change expression; but her blue eyes slowly slid around to appraise Gramp Wiggins. “Why do you ask that?”

“I was just wondering if maybe that’s what Frank was askin’ Stanwood about.”

“What’s Karper got to do with it?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” Gramps said.

“Karper,” she told him, “is in the cattle ranching and subdividing business. I don’t think he and Mr. Pressman had anything in common.”

“You know him?”

“I know him when I see him.”

“Ever talked with him?”

She hesitated for a moment, then said definitely: “No.”

“Harvey Stanwood know him?”

“I believe he does. He’s told me something about him.”

“Harvey talk over business with you occasionally?”

“Nothing of a confidential nature.”

“But things generally?”

“Naturally. Our futures depended upon what Harvey could do.”

“How come he ain’t in the Army?”

“They rejected him the first time on account of some minor physical ailment. I understand they may call him back and re-examine him.”

“When were you two going to get married?”

“You want to know a lot, don’t you?”

Gramps grinned at her and said: “Uh huh.”

“Well, suppose you try minding your own business for a while? It’ll be quite a change for you.”

“Okay,” Gramps said, and promptly walked over to the table which held the magazines, started pawing around through them, mumbling under his breath. He finally came back with one of the popular weeklies, sat down in his chair, said: “This is a hell of a district attorney’s office. Ain’t a detective magazine in the place.”

Eva Raymond maintained an aloof silence and Gramps started reading.

After three or four minutes’ cogitation Eva began to squirm. “How did you know anything about Karper?” she asked abruptly.

“I don’t know anything about him,” Gramps said.

“But you knew his name?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know that? You must have learned that from the district attorney.”

The only answer Gramps gave was an inarticulate grunt which might have meant anything. He devoted his attention once more to the magazine.

“Did Mr. Duryea say anything about George Karper?” she demanded abruptly.

“Thought you didn’t want to talk with me.”

“Well, I want to know the answer to that.”

“Why?”

“Because I... It means a lot.”

“Nothin’ else I asked you made very much impression on you,” Gramps observed shrewdly. “But I start talkin’ about Karper, an’ right away you get all excited. What’s the angle?”

She said indignantly: “There isn’t any.” She looked toward the door of Duryea’s private office, opened her purse, took out a compact, and put finishing touches on her face.

Gramps said casually: “Looks like a new compact.”

She said absently: “Just a cheap thing. I picked it up this afternoon in a drugstore.”

“Too bad the other one got broken,” Gramps observed.

She looked at him then, lowering the compact, her eyes staring into his with cold hatred. “I suppose you’re trying to make something out of the initials that were on that other compact the police— Well, it’s a lie.”

“What is?” Gramps asked.

“What you’re insinuating.”

“What was I...?”

The door of Duryea’s private office opened very abruptly. The district attorney bowed Harvey Stanwood out into the outer office, said: “Thank you very much, Mr. Stanwood. I—”

There was no mistaking the surprise on Stanwood’s face as he saw Eva Raymond sitting there. “Why, hello, Eva! Did you come up to get me?”

“Hello — dear. No. The district attorney sent for me.”

Duryea explained suavely: “Just a few routine questions I wanted to ask her, Mr. Stanwood.”

“Why,” Stanwood exclaimed, “this is a surprise! I didn’t know she was out here. I— Well, I’ll go on in with you, Eva, and then we’ll go back down to Los Angeles together.”

“I’d prefer that you waited out here,” Duryea said politely, but with crisp authority in his voice.

Stanwood frowned, started to say something, then thought better of it. His eyes turned to Gramps, dismissed him, then flashed back to give him the puzzled scrutiny of someone who is trying to place a face he has seen before.

“Evenin’,” Gramps said cordially.

Duryea said: “Just come right in, Miss Raymond.”

Eva said: “Can’t Harvey—”

Duryea bustled her on into the office as her words died away. The door clicked shut.

Stanwood walked over to the table which contained the periodicals, made a pretence of a selection, but kept looking at Gramp Wiggins, studying him furtively, quite evidently trying to place him.

Gramps beat him to it. “I seen you some place before,” he said, “not very long ago. Where’d I meet you?”

Harvey Stanwood laughed nervously. “I was just trying to place you,” he admitted.

Gramps got up and pushed out a gnarled hand. “Wiggins is my name,” he said.

“I’m Harvey Stanwood.”

They shook hands.

“Hell of an assortment of magazines,” Gramps grumbled. “Ain’t a detective story in the outfit.”

Stanwood said: “I was looking for a financial journal or some serious reading. This is just popular fiction.”

“That’s right. Personally, I like detective stories or horse racing.”

“Horse racing,” Stanwood said with a laugh, “is a little outside my line. I—” His voice suddenly dried up in his throat. His eyes contained startled recognition.

“Looks like you’ve placed me,” Gramps said.

“Weren’t you in Los Angeles this morning?”

“Yep.”

“In a saloon on Grand Avenue figuring out some dope on the ponies from a newspaper?”

“By gum,” Gramps exclaimed. “That’s right! You was sittin’ over there in a booth right across from me. I remember now, seein’ you and the fellow with you.”

Harvey abruptly lost interest in the magazines. “By George,” he said, “one thing I forgot to mention to the district attorney.”

“Yes?” Gramps asked encouragingly.

“Well, in a way,” Harvey said, “I was... it was partially—”

He walked abruptly over to the door of the private office and knocked.

It was almost thirty seconds before Duryea opened the door. He was scowling, and the glance he flashed at Gramps indicated he thought Gramps had been the one who knocked. Then he saw Stanwood standing by the door and said: “Yes, what is it?”

Stanwood said: “One thing I didn’t get straight, Mr. Duryea, and I thought I’d better explain.”

Duryea continued to hold the door open. “What is it?”

“When you asked me about Karper, there was one thing I forgot, and... and another thing which I deliberately suppressed.”

“Why?” Duryea asked, snapping the question at him with the explosive force of a rifle shot.

“Well,” Stanwood said, “my position in the matter is not entirely clear. I’m still in the employ of the Pressman interests, and there are some matters of business which simply can’t come out at the present time.”

Duryea said: “If you impede the investigation in this case, or make any false statements because of business matters, you’ll be apt to find yourself in a very unenviable position.”

“I realize that,” Stanwood admitted. “It’s thinking that over which makes me want to correct my statement.”

“All right, what’s the correction?”

“You asked me if I had seen Karper lately, and I told you I hadn’t. As a matter of fact, I did have a brief discussion with Mr. Karper about some business matters.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“What were the matters?”

“Well... I don’t think I’m really free to go into those. They’re highly confidential, and I don’t see how they make any difference whatever in clarifying the situation you’re investigating.”

“Anything that would have given Karper a motive for murdering Pressman?”

“Good heavens, no! Mr. Karper is hardly the sort of man one would associate with murder, regardless of the motive.”

“I’m afraid,” Duryea said, “you’ll have to leave that to me. What I’m interested in learning from you is the general background, the interests of the various people, and the possibility of motivation... What did you and Karper talk about?”

“Generally, it was some highly confidential business transactions he’d had with Pressman.”

“What was their nature?”

“Ostensibly,” Stanwood said, “Karper and Pressman were at loggerheads. As a matter of fact their relationship wasn’t — well, it wasn’t exactly what it appeared on the surface.”

“You mean Karper was working for Pressman?”

“No, not exactly that, but there were certain things they were doing together, certain interests they had in common.”

“Did Mrs. Pressman know about that?”

“No. I don’t think Mr. Pressman confided in his wife — particularly of late. No one knew about it, except Karper and myself.”

“And Mr. Pressman, of course?”

“Oh, yes, naturally.”

“Tell me more about what they had in common,” the district attorney commanded.

“Pressman had let Karper in on a quarter of those oil rights. No one knew anything about it. Ostensibly Karper hated Pressman. In reality, they were partners to the extent of a quarter interest in this oil business.”

Duryea thought that over. Abruptly, he said, raising his voice so Eva Raymond could hear every word: “All right, Stanwood, I’m going to be frank with you. There’s evidence indicating you may have been short in your accounts. There’s also evidence indicating Mr. Pressman may have found out about that shortage, and may have been preparing to do something about it unless you made restitution. What have you to say to that?”

Stanwood became properly indignant. “Mr. Duryea! Are you accusing me of embezzling money?”

“Not yet,” Duryea said patiently. “I’m asking questions. But make no mistake about it. The accusation may come later — unless those questions are satisfactorily answered.”

Eva Raymond’s voice came from the inner office. “Well, I can tell you the answer to that, Mr. Duryea. Every penny that you think was short was deposited—”

“Wait a minute, Eva,” Harvey interrupted, moving forward to stand in the door. “Let me answer this question. I’m afraid there are some things which even you don’t know.”

“Go ahead and answer it,” Duryea said.

Stanwood said: “Because the transactions between Mr. Karper and Mr. Pressman were so highly confidential, the financial matters were handled in an irregular manner. Such expenditures as Mr. Pressman made on behalf of the joint venture were taken out of the business without any form of voucher or any record whatever. The funds were simply lifted bodily out of Pressman’s business.”

“And then?” Duryea asked.

“And then,” Stanwood said, “when the amounts became large enough, I would get in touch with Mr. Karper, tell him how much we had expended, how much his contribution was to be, and Mr. Karper would give me that amount in cash. I’d take it and deposit it, in such a way that there would be no real record of that transaction as a deposit... In other words it would simply balance the money which had been lifted from the business without vouchers.”

“A highly irregular procedure,” Duryea said.

“It was necessary in order to preserve absolute secrecy.”

“And your conversation with Karper had to do with getting the books balanced?”

“No,” Stanwood said, “it didn’t. As a matter of fact, it happened that I had taken up the matter of Karper’s balance with him the day Mr. Pressman died. Although, of course, neither of us knew of his death at that time. In fact, as I understand the matter, our adjustment was made several hours before Pressman’s death.”

“And what happened?”

“Mr. Karper gave me quite a large amount of cash. I used that cash to balance the shortages which had been incurred because of joint expenditures.

“The way Mr. Pressman insisted upon this business being handled would have made it appear I was short — during the intervals between the expenditures and the receipt of Karper’s remittances — although that hadn’t ever occurred to me until just now. You see, since Mr. Pressman knew all about it, and wanted it handled that way — but in the event of his death — well, I can see how you were misled, Mr. Duryea.”

“Can you make me a list of those joint interests?” Duryea asked.

“I could,” Stanwood said with proper hesitancy, “but I don’t see any reason for doing so.”

“I want to have them.”

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Duryea. I’d have to have a written authorization from both Mrs. Pressman and Mr. Karper before I could do that. You’ll appreciate my position. I’m a subordinate, an employee. I have no right whatever to take the responsibility of making decisions.”

“And I think you understand my position,” Duryea said. “I’m a district attorney investigating a murder, and I’m not going to be stalled off.”

“Yes, I can appreciate your position.”

Duryea said: “Very well then, get busy and make out a list of those expenditures. If you need permission from Mrs. Pressman and Mr. Karper, get that permission, but get me the list.”

Stanwood said: “Very well, Mr. Duryea,” and then to Eva, “I don’t think I’ll wait for you, Eva. I’ve been on the go all day, and I’m about dead.”

“You’d better wait,” Eva called. “I won’t be very long. Will I, Mr. Duryea?”

“I don’t know,” Duryea said. “It depends on how truthful you are,” and closed the door.