Authors: Rex Burns
Farnsworth Score (27 page)
Wager copied their names and addresses into his notebook. “Can you tell me what you did when you locked up last night, Mr. Duncan?”
“Sure I can. Mostly because there’s not much to it. Nick, here, he’s got the hard end of the job when it comes to locking up. Me, I just look through the conservatory and the bathrooms and lobby to make sure nobody’s there. Then I lock up. We never had anybody get locked in yet; but if they did, they’d sure have a time getting out. No, no, wait. If they was in the conservatory itself, they could get out the emergency doors, but them bells would set off a racket.”
“Yes, sir. Did you—?”
Duncan didn’t hear him. “If they was in the lobby section, now, they’d have the devil of a time, wouldn’t they, Nick? All them doors is latched with a key and you can’t open them without one, inside or out.” Behind the bifocals, the eyes frowned. “But the telephone’s in there, ain’t it, Nick? They could always call somebody and get out that way. If they had a dime.” Another pause. “I don’t know what they’d do if they didn’t have a dime.”
The other groundskeeper nodded, and Wager got the feeling that was the most Mazzotti ever had a chance to do. “Yes, sir. Do you check out the other areas, too? Gift shop? Library?”
“No, I don’t. Because those folks are supposed to shoo everybody out themselves, and I can’t recollect ever finding their doors unlocked. I guess if I did, I’d look and see, though.”
“What do you do after you lock the outside door?”
“After? Well, I put the key back in the cabinet and lock the greenhouse. Can’t be too careful, what with them heads running around and everything.”
“Yes, sir. Did anybody ever find the master key missing? Do you know if anybody ever lost one?”
“Well, I tell you—I been here almost eighteen years now, and the conservatory was built in 1966, that’s ten years ago, and there ain’t been no keys missing since then.”
“How many people know the combination to that padlock?”
“Two. Me and Joe; that’s all. That’s all that needs to know. Anybody else wants a key to something, they can always find me or Joe.”
Wager turned back to Mauro. “What’s your routine when you lock up?”
“I make sure the temperature and humidity’s right in the conservatory; then I check the water timers and secure the conservatory doors. Then I check the education wing. Like Leon said, they’re supposed to lock their own areas, but I check just in case; they’ve screwed up more than once over there. Then the thermostats in the lobby area … windows in the offices and gift shop. Then I mop the toilets and the lobby. Then I leave.”
“See?” said Duncan. “He has a lot to do when he locks up.”
“Yes, sir. Do you use the north doors, too, Mr. Mauro?”
“Yeah. There’s only one set to lock.”
“Do any of you know any females matching the victim’s description—maybe twenty-five, short blond hair, regular features?”
“Do I know any?” answered Duncan. “Well, I see them around, you know, in the supermarket and such. But I sure don’t know any.”
Mauro and Mazzotti shook their heads.
“Could I have your address, Mr. Mauro, in case I have to get in touch with you again?”
“It’s 1308 Garfield. Upstairs.”
Upstairs. In that neighborhood, it meant a room or small apartment in a private home. “Do you live alone?”
“Yeah.”
Wager wondered if his weariness made Mauro seem distant and almost sullen. God knew he was too tired now to come up with any more questions, and when he reached that stage the whole world seemed sullen. But at least by now his mind told him he had done enough, and he knew it would finally let him sleep. “Thanks a lot.”
On his way back to the car, he glimpsed the lab technicians taking down the “
CRIME SCENE
” signs and saw the senior citizens finally line up at the admission window—and thought he heard a cracked female voice ask, “What? What do they want now?”
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1977 by Rex Raoul Stephen Sehler Burns
cover design by Michel Vrana
978-1-4532-4789-1
This edition published in 2012 by Open Road Integrated Media
180 Varick Street
New York, NY 10014
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
