Death Before Bedtime (6 page)

“I may as well admit quite frankly, ladies and gentlemen, that we are baffled. We haven’t the slightest idea who murdered Senator Rhodes.” This unusual admission on the part of someone in authority made a considerable impression. I almost expected a polite round of applause … only the presence of death in the house prevented his audience from showing their pleasure at his originality.

“We are fairly confident that the murderer or murderers are, if you will pardon me, in the house at this time … but even of that we’re not entirely sure. We
do
know that only someone who knew the Senator’s habits fairly well could have contrived the … trap which worked so successfully. It would also seem that whoever did the murder could not have
planned it too far in advance because the 5-X explosive was brought to the house only yesterday by Mr. Pomeroy. Four paper cartons of 5-X were kept in Mr. Pomeroy’s room. Mr. Pomeroy discussed the new explosive with the Senator yesterday morning at the Senate Office Building in the presence of Mr. Hollister. He then joined Mrs. Pomeroy, Mr. Langdon, Miss Pruitt, Mrs. Rhodes and Miss Rhodes here in the house and there was, I am told, more talk of the new explosive. In short, all the guests, with the exception of Mr. Sargeant, knew about the 5-X, knew that Mr. Pomeroy had four cartons of it in his room, cartons which were to have been turned over to the army this afternoon with Senator Rhodes’ recommendation. The cartons were kept in a special fireproof bag which was locked. Some time between four in the afternoon, when Mr. Pomeroy placed the bag in his closet, and one-thirty-six the next morning when Senator Rhodes lit the fire in his study, the murderer went to Mr. Pomeroy’s room, broke the lock on the bag and took out a single container which he then placed in the fireplace of the study. I believe that whoever did this must have known something about explosives because, had he taken all four and put them in the fireplace, the house would have been wrecked and the murderer killed along with everyone else.” The Lieutenant paused. All eyes were upon him. The room was silent except for the rather heavy breathing of Mrs. Pomeroy beside me, struggling with her cold.

“Now,” said the Lieutenant, with a juvenile actor’s smile, “I realize that you people are very busy. Your affairs are very important to the country and the Department wants to do everything in its power to make this investigation as easy as possible for you. Unfortunately, until we have a clearer idea of what we’re up against, you will have to be inconvenienced to the extent of remaining in this house for at least
a week.” There was an indignant murmur; the official soft soap forgotten.

“Do you realize, young man,” said Miss Pruitt, “that a national election is coming up? that I have a million things to do in the next few weeks?”

“I certainly do, Miss Pruitt. Everyone knows how important your work is but we’re all caught in the law. The Department, however, has agreed to allow you ladies and gentlemen to leave the house on urgent business, on condition that we always know where you are. Mrs. Rhodes has kindly consented to let us keep you here in the house for the next few days so that you’ll be available for questioning. I realize how inconvenient this must be but those are my orders.” And the law took command. There were a few more complaints but the comparative freedom allowed us put everyone in a better mood. The Lieutenant then permitted a recess until five o’clock, at which time there would be more questioning. Like children we trooped out of the dining room.

Verbena Pruitt was the first to leave and, from the grim look on her face, I was quite sure that she would be in touch with the White House before many minutes had passed: after all she was, in a sense, The American Woman. Mr. Pomeroy murmured something to his wife and also left. Walter Langdon went upstairs and Rufus Hollister tangled with the Lieutenant in my presence.

“Lieutenant, you must let me get certain papers out of the Senator’s file. It’s extremely urgent, as I’ve said before.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hollister, but those papers are all being gone over by the Department. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I don’t think you realize how serious this is, Lieutenant,” said Hollister, flushing angrily. “The papers I want have
nothing to do with the murder … I swear to you they don’t. They involve, however, certain people of the greatest importance—the leaders of this country—and they were meant only for the Senator’s eyes.”

“We’re not politicians,” said the Lieutenant quietly … a little inaccurately, I thought. “We’re not interested in the political implications of all this. Those papers are being gone over by men who are looking for only one thing: clues to the murder of Senator Rhodes. I don’t need to tell you that they are discreet men. In any case, all the papers will be returned to your office in a day or two.”

“You don’t understand,” said Rufus furiously, but there was very little he could say: the Lieutenant’s attitude was perfectly reasonable, and legal. “I shall talk to the District Commissioners about this,” he said, finally; then he was gone. The Lieutenant sighed. I looked about me and saw that we were the only two left in the room. Ellen had quietly vanished … in pursuit of Walter Langdon, I presumed. The other policemen were all upstairs in the study. In the dining room behind us, the servants were cleaning up.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” I said sympathetically.

He nodded. “It’s like doing a tightrope act. Do you realize the influence this gang has? I don’t dare offend any of them.”

“Or dare make a mistake.”

“We don’t make mistakes,” said the Lieutenant, suddenly stuffy, a policeman after all in spite of his college manners and Grecian profile.

“I might be able to help you,” I said, going off on another tack: one which would interest him. He didn’t react quite the way I would have liked, though.

“Why do you want to do that?” He was suspicious. It gave
me quite a turn to realize that this man regarded me as a possible murderer.

“Money,” I said callously. Self-interest makes beasts of us all … and all men understand self-interest: it is the most plausible of motives, the one which is seldom ever questioned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I would like very much to be the first to know who did the murder because I could then get quite a large sum of money from my old newspaper the
New York Globe
for an exclusive story on the murder.”

“I thought you were in public relations.”

“Before that I was assistant drama critic on the
Globe.
You may recall I was the one who did the story on the murder of Ella Sutton, the ballerina, last year. I made a good deal out of that particular story.”

“I remember.” I couldn’t tell how he was reacting. Then: “Just how do you think you can help us?”

“Through the family,” I said glibly. “Through Ellen Rhodes. You see we used to be engaged. I can find out quickly a lot of things you people might never know.”

“Such as?”

“What’s really going on. What the Senator’s true relationships were with this gang. By an odd coincidence almost everyone here disliked him, or had reason to.”

“Except you?”

I was getting nowhere; I was also getting rather put out with this decorative arm of the law. “Except me. No, I didn’t murder the old goat so that I could marry his daughter and get all his money. Having sat next to her at lunch you are probably quite aware of Miss Rhodes’ true nature.”

Against his will, the Lieutenant grinned. I had made a chink in the official mask. I charged ahead. “We’re old friends,
that’s all, Ellen and I. I have a hunch she knows a good deal about this and I can find out what she knows, quickly.”

“All just for a newspaper story?”

“Just!” I was genuinely outraged. “Yes,” I said, more calmly, “just for a newspaper story, for the money and the publicity.”

“We’re not supposed to work with the press … not like this, at this stage of an investigation.”

“On the other hand, I’m not just the press either.”

“I’ll say you’re not. You’re a murder suspect.”

This was putting it too coldly, I thought. I shrugged and turned away, “In that case, you’ll get no coöperation from me, Lieutenant. What I do know I’ll keep to myself.”

“What’s the deal?” He was abrupt.

“I want to know what’s going on. In exchange I’ll find out things for you … family skeletons. On top of that, remember the pieces I’ll do for the
Globe
’ll be widely reprinted and you, Lieutenant Winters, will be getting a good deal of attention.”

“What do you know?” I had won the first round.

“Pomeroy,” I said. There was no need to explain further: we understood each other.

“Why Pomeroy?”

“Old enemy. The Senator was blackmailing him over that 5-X … at least that’s my guess. Rhodes wanted to be paid off either in cash or votes, probably the last. Pomeroy’s a big gun in their state.”

“How did you find this out?”

“I know a little about politics,” I said quietly; as a matter of fact I had figured out the whole plot at lunch. I didn’t care to admit, at this point however, that I was relying rather heavily on intuition and a few chance remarks dropped my way the day before by Rufus Hollister.

The Lieutenant extended to me his first confidence. “That’s one way of looking at it,” he said. “But the fact is the Senator refused yesterday to recommend Pomeroy to the Defense Department … Pomeroy admitted as much.”

“I wonder, though, why the Senator’s recommendation should be so important?” I asked, a little puzzled.

“Pomeroy was in bad with the Defense Department. They canceled his contract last month.”

I nodded as if I knew all this; actually it was a surprise; the first real lead. “I knew,” I lied, “that he hoped his 5-X would put him back into business again.”

“It’s not very clear, though,” said the Lieutenant sadly, moving over to the window which overlooked the street. Several newspapermen were trying to get past the guards. Most of the crowd, however, had gone on about their business. “Why would Pomeroy want to kill the one man who could help him get his contract?”

“Isn’t revenge one of the usual motives? along with greed and lust?”

“It’s a little extreme … and obvious, too obvious.” It was the first time that I had ever heard a member of any police department maintain that anything was too obvious: as a rule they jump wildly, and often safely, to the first solution that offers itself. This was a bright boy, I decided; I would have to handle myself very carefully around him.

“One other thing,” I said, playing my only card.

“What’s that?”

“Mrs. Pomeroy. I have an idea, a hunch.”

“That what?”

“That she and the old boy were carrying on, a long time ago. It would complete the revenge motive wouldn’t it? Not only was Pomeroy angry about losing his contract but he
also had an old grudge against the Senator because of something which had happened even before Pomeroy ever met his wife.”

“Where’d you find all this out?”

“Deduction, I’m afraid. No evidence. At lunch today she made several remarks which started me thinking, that’s all. I found out that she’d known the Senator all her life, that she was very fond of him … really so … that Pomeroy, as we know, was not; that Pomeroy came to the state only about fifteen years ago from Michigan and about the same time, married the Senator’s old friend, Mrs. P.”

“It’ll take a good deal of investigating to check on this.”

“I know some short cuts.”

“We could use them.”

“You
do
think Pomeroy killed the Senator, don’t you?”

The Lieutenant nodded, “I think he did.”

After my session with Winters, I went upstairs and telephoned my office in New York. My secretary, a noble woman in middle life named Miss Flynn, admitted that she had been concerned about me. She gave me a quick report on the progress of my other clients: a hat company, three television actresses of the second rank, a comedian of the first rank, a society lady of mysterious origin but well-charted future, and a small but rich dog-food concern. All of my clients seemed reasonably pleased and the few problems which had arisen in my absence were settled over the phone with Miss Flynn. “I trust you will soon return to New York now that your client Senator Rhodes has been Gathered Up,” said Miss Flynn ceremoniously.

“As soon as the police let us go,” I said. “We’re all in quite a spot.”

“Washington!” said Miss Flynn with a note of disgust: next to Hollywood she regarded it as the end, the absolute moral end of a country which was rapidly degenerating into something Roman and horrid.

After I had finished with Miss Flynn, I called my old editor at the
Globe
and I managed to extort a considerable sum for a series of articles on the death of Senator Rhodes. I need not now recall the details of this transaction; enough to say that I did pretty well, considering the depressed state of the dollar.

My business over, I strolled downstairs to the second floor. At one end of the corridor, on the left, was the blanketed and guarded entrance to the study. Three bedrooms opened off that corridor. The one nearest the study was occupied by the Pomeroys. Across from it was Walter Langdon’s and, next to his, was Rufus Hollister’s room. To the right of the landing was another hall with four bedrooms opening off it. They were the rooms, I knew, of Senator Rhodes, of Mrs. Rhodes, of Ellen and Miss Pruitt. My room on the third floor was definitely in the outfield, up where the servants lived. On an impulse I went to Ellen’s room and opened the door, without knocking.

Had I been half an hour later, I should probably have witnessed as fine a display of carnality as our Puritan country has to offer; happily, for my own modesty, I found Walter Langdon and Ellen still clothed in spite of a steaming embrace on the bed which broke abruptly when they heard me. Langdon leaped to his feet like a track star warming up for the high hurdles; Ellen, an old hand at this sort of discovery, sat up more slowly and straightened her hair. “A pin just stabbed me in the back of the neck,” she announced irritably, rubbing
her neck. “Why the hell don’t you knock?” Then, before I could answer she turned to Langdon angrily and said, “I thought you said you locked the door?”