Fallen Angels (15 page)

Oh, pooh. I didn’t want to admit that I
aspired to be an assistant investigator, because that sounded
stupid. I was, however, on my dignity when I replied to Mr.
Gilbert. “I am his secretary, but I also assist him when I can.
Mrs. Chalmers was an enthusiastic member of the church, and I
figured attending services at the Angelica Gospel Hall would be an
interesting thing to do, definitely not dangerous, and I got to
meet Sister Emmanuel and a friend of Mrs. Chalmers, so I don’t
believe my time was wasted.”

“My goodness. You’re an inspired employee,
Miss Allcutt.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or
not, so I said, “Thank you.”

“But I honestly don’t know anyone who
goes to the place. At least no one’s admitted doing so to me.” I
detected a certain sneer in his mien but didn’t blame him for it.
Most people had at least read about Mrs. Emmanuel’s work, and a
good many of the articles published, at least those that I’d seen,
hadn’t been exactly enthusiastic about her work. I think the most
charitable of the pieces I’d read called her misguided. Others
weren’t so kind, and words like
charlatan
,
bunkum,
fraud, cheat
, and the like had been sprinkled about in
the articles.

I wasn’t sure I agreed with the
doubting Thomases. Mind you, I wasn’t about to join the Angelica
Gospel Hall myself, and I had found the service rather . . .
perhaps
gaudy
is the word I’m
looking for. Still, Sister Emmanuel had been nice, and so had been
Mrs. Pinkney.

All that aside, however, it looked as if John
Gilbert wasn’t going to be a mine of information for me, so I gave
him up as a lost cause and determined to pursue the investigation
from other angles.

Chapter Nine

“You did
what
? God damn it, Mercy, stay out of this
investigation! For God’s sake, a woman’s been murdered! Don’t you
have any sense at all?”

I’d seen Ernie angry before, but I
don’t think I’d ever seen him
this
angry.

“Don’t you dare swear at me, Mr. Ernest
Templeton!”

Very well, I admit my temper wasn’t any
too jolly that Monday morning, either. I’d been all smiles when
Ernie’d finally strolled into the office around nine o’clock, and
I’d even given him time to toss his coat and hat on the rack and
have a good gander at the
Times
before I’d entered his office to tell him the results my
weekend’s investigation.

“I don’t want you anywhere near anything to
do with this investigation!”

“Well, that’s just too bad, because since
you’re the chief suspect—and don’t tell me you’re not, because I
know better—I’m going to do my best to find that woman’s real
killer.”

“Let the police do their jobs!”

That command came out as a bellow, and I
winced slightly. “So far, their jobs have led them straight to your
door, Ernest Templeton, and don’t try to tell me any different.
Even Phil says you’re the chief suspect. And since you have a sworn
enemy as head of the investigation—”

“O’Reilly’s not a sworn enemy! We don’t like
each other, is all.”

“Nevertheless—”

“Besides, Phil doesn’t believe for a minute
that I killed that woman.”

“Yes, I know he doesn’t, but he’s not the
entire police force. You’ve told me more than once how corrupt they
are, and if this O’Reilly person is as horrid as you say, then we
need all the help we can get. He’s the one in charge of the case,
don’t forget.” I squinted at Ernie, recalling something Phil had
said at the scene of the crime. “You were at the Chalmers place to
investigate her stolen jewelry, weren’t you? I mean you weren’t . .
. doing what that odious man suggested, were you?”

I thought for a moment that Ernie’s
eyeballs were going to pop out of his head. “For the love of God,
Mercy Allcutt, what kind of man do you think I
am
!”

“Well,” I said, feeling hot and definitely
bothered, “I felt I ought to eliminate the possibility
completely.”

“You
aren’t
going to eliminate anything! And no, I was not having a sordid
affair with that idiotic woman!”

“Are you sure that awful Detective O’Reilly
knows that?”

“God damn it, Mercy, of
course
he knows that!”

“But are you sure he’ll tell the rest of the
police force that? I mean, if he hates you as much as you say he
does—”

“Dammit—”

But I’d had enough of being sworn at. “Stop
it right this instant!” I held up my hand and spoke in my mother’s
most commanding voice.

Darned if his mouth didn’t flap open and his
words dry up. Boy, was I ever surprised.

I took advantage of the situation instantly.
“Before you holler another word at me, Ernie Templeton, let me tell
you what I found out.”

He plunked his elbows on his desk and lowered
his head to his hands. “Aw, Christ,” said he.

Taking this as an invitation to continue, I
did so. “During the service, I sat next to a woman whom I later
learned was Elizabeth Pinkney. Mrs. Gaylord Pinkney. Mrs. Pinkney
told me her husband hated her own involvement with Sister
Emmanuel’s church—”

“Sister
Emmanuel,” muttered Ernie.

“Don’t worry,” I told him drily. “I’m not
turning to the dark side. I only attended services there to see
what Mrs. Chalmers found so fascinating about the place.”

“Yeah?” Ernie still cradled his head in his
hands. “And did you?”

“Well . . . yes, I think so. The services are
very . . . exuberant.”

“Huh.”

“But that’s not the important thing. The
important thing is that Mrs. Pinkney was a close friend to Mrs.
Chalmers, and she—Mrs. Pinkney, I mean—told me that Mrs. Chalmers
had been getting letters threatening her life.”

Ernie’s head lifted, and for the first time
since we’d begun speaking that morning, he didn’t look as if he
wished he could throttle me. “Yeah?”

My heart soared. “You didn’t know about the
threatening letters?”

He hesitated for a second, as if he hated to
give me his answer. But he did eventually. “No. I knew the woman
had problems, but I didn’t know about the threatening letters. She
didn’t tell me about them, although she did say she feared for her
life. Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure Mrs. Pinkney told me Mrs. Chalmers
was worried about having received threatening letters.”

Ernie sat up straight. “When you
say
threatening letters
, what
do you mean exactly? Did the letters threaten her life?”

“Mrs. Pinkney didn’t go into details. I
don’t know if she
actually knows any details. But it
occurred to me that perhaps someone resented Mrs. Chalmers’
involvement with the Angelica Gospel Hall. Mrs. Pinkney said Mrs.
Chalmers donated tons of money there. Perhaps someone wanted her to
stop doing that.”

“Hmm. That might indicate a member of her
family,” Ernie said thoughtfully.

“Exactly what I thought. Well, we’ve already
talked about Mr. Chalmers and . . . Mr. Chalmers.” I wished those
two men didn’t have the same last name. It would have made my work
much easier. “When I asked her, Mrs. Pinkney said she didn’t know
what Mr. Chalmers thought about the place, although her own husband
didn’t like her involvement in it, but I also thought of Mr. Simon
Chalmers. He sounded disinterested when I interviewed him, but
perhaps he was afraid Mrs. Chalmers would spend all of his father’s
money before he could inherit it. Or perhaps Mr. Pinkney decided to
do Mrs. Chalmers in because he hoped she’d stop attending the
church if Mrs. Chalmers was no longer around.”

“You have a hell of an imagination, Mercy
Allcutt.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“I figured as much.”

Before another fight could break out, I heard
the front door to the office open, so I had to depart Ernie to
attend to my secretarial duties. I was not best pleased to
encounter two policemen and Phil Bigelow in the outer office.

“Good morning, Phil.” I eyed his two
outriders with suspicion. The one who wasn’t wearing a uniform I
suspected of being Detective O’Reilly. He was the same sneering
fellow I’d seen at the Chalmers’ home on the day I discovered Mrs.
Chalmers’ body, and I didn’t like the looks of him at all.

“Morning, Mercy. We’re here to see
Ernie.”

“I suspected as much.” My voice was about as
dry as the Mojave Desert must have been on that warm September day.
“And will you introduce me to your friends, please?”

“Uh . . . oh, sure. This is Officer Mahon,
and this is Detective O’Reilly.”

Aha! Just as I’d suspected. I gave him a
meaningful squint. “Good day, gentlemen. I presume you’re doing
your jobs with due diligence.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the uniformed officer
Mahon, who seemed rather nervous.

“We always do,” said O’Reilly.

I eyed him, searching for any sign of
degeneration or vileness. He only looked like a slightly overweight
man with a sneer. Bother.

“Um . . .” Phil fidgeted, and I considered
this a bad sign.

“Yes?”

“Well . . . we’re going to have to take Ernie
down to the station, Mercy. It’s just a technical sort of
thing.”

I’m sure my eyes went as round as
saucers. “Take him to the station! Do you mean to tell me you’re
going to
arrest
him?”

“No.” Phil sounded crabby. “But this is an
official investigation, and we have to conduct it according to the
rules.”

“Whose rules?” I demanded.

“Those of the L.A.P.D.”

“The same L.A.P.D. that so bungled the
William Desmond Taylor investigation that we don’t know who killed
the man to this day, and from which Mr. Templeton resigned because
the corruption therein so disgusted him?”

O’Reilly and Mahon exchanged a look I
couldn’t interpret, although I got the feeling Phil might have told
them something about me and my firm belief in my employer’s
innocence.

Phil heaved a large sigh. “This isn’t
helping, Mercy. Ernie will have to come with us and answer a few
questions. We won’t keep him long.”

I said, “Anyhow, I thought you were out of
the investigation.”

“I’m not out of it. Only I persuaded the
chief that my friendship with Ernie wouldn’t affect my conduct of
the case. I’ve got O’Reilly breathing over my shoulder to make sure
of it.”

“Right,” said O’Reilly, sounding as if he
enjoyed his role.

Looking O’Reilly straight in the eye, I said,
“I think it’s totally unfair that someone who dislikes Ernie should
be involved in the case at all.”

“Now, listen here, Miss Allcutt—”

But Detective O’Reilly didn’t have the
opportunity to defend himself. Ernie appeared in his office door,
clad for going out of doors. “Don’t mind her, guys. She’s still
convinced she and she alone can find the murderer.”

“I am not! I do, however, believe that I can
help the investigation along. I already told you something you
didn’t already know, if you’ll remember.” I’m sure my cheeks were
blazing with temper. The rest of me definitely was.

“I know, I know.” Wearily, Ernie held his
hands out, as if waiting for the handcuffs.

I gasped and turned on Phil with horror. “But
you said . . .”

“Don’t make a damned fool of yourself,
Ernie,” growled Phil, apparently not appreciating Ernie’s gesture.
“We’re not arresting him, Mercy. We just need him to make an
official statement at the department.”

“Right,” said Ernie, sounding as though he
didn’t believe Phil’s words any more than I did.

“We already gave statements,” I reminded
him.

“Further statements,” Phil said, looking and
sounding uncomfortable, which he should be, darn it.

“It’s all right, Mercy. None of this is
Phil’s fault.” Then Ernie frowned at O’Reilly and, giving every
appearance of disenchantment, left with the three men.

Well.

I sat at my desk and stewed for a bit and
then decided to take matters into my own hands. The police
department didn’t seem to be doing anything but looking at Ernie,
while I knew there were other suspects out there. Somewhere. After
considering the matter, I decided not to telephone Mr. Chalmers
before I hied myself to his house for a chat. Why not do some more
sleuthing on my own? There was certainly nothing for me to do on
the job in the Figueroa Building.

Of course, this trip entailed another cab
fare. I silently apologized to Great-Aunt Agatha. Then I reminded
myself that Agatha had been a good old girl and would probably
applaud my energies in attempting to prove an innocent man’s . . .
well, innocence. Small wonder my parents had disapproved of her
almost as much as they did me.

* * * * *

A black swag decorated—if that’s the right
word—the front door of the Chalmers residence when the cabbie
pulled up. I asked him to wait for me and told him I’d pay him for
his time when he griped and claimed he’d be losing fares. But I
wanted to interview all of the household’s inhabitants if I could,
and that might take some time. So he agreed to wait. More of
Great-Aunt Agatha’s money. But it was being spent for a good cause,
darn it.

I twisted the doorbell. The act itself
brought back memories of the prior week, and they weren’t happy
ones. I prayed like mad that someone would answer my ring this
time, because I didn’t want to enter the place and find another
dead body. Not, of course, that I would.

Be that as it may, my knees almost buckled
with relief when Susan, whose last name I never did learn, answered
the door. I cursed myself for not thinking to bring flowers of
sympathy or something, but it was too late by that time.