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THOMPSON HAS
"MR.
MASTERED THE FORM
OF THE CLASSIC
( Hammett-Chandler-Macdonald
California private-investigator novel
.Cooley is a robustly real
. .

invention, and it is a pleasure to

watch him (and his equally but
differently intelligent wife ) at work
and, when they get the chance,
at play."

The New Yorker

"There's a new master behind this
MURDER MYSTERY ... and his
name is Gene Thompson!"
Cleveland Plain Dealer
Also by Gene Thompson
Published by Ballantine Books;

LUPE
MURDER
MYSTERY
GENE THOMPSON

BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK

 The lines quoted on page 156 are from "I Wake and Feel
the Fell of Dark" by Gerard Manley Hopkins, reprinted cour-
tesy of Oxford University Press.
For the quotation from Sir Max Beerbohm on page 279, I
am indebted to Arthur Sheekman.
"La Fornarina" is on permanent exhibit in the Galleria
Palatina in Florence.

Copyright © 1980 by AVO PRODUCTIONS, INC.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copy-

right Conventions. Published in the United States by Ballantine
Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simul-
taneously in Canada by Random House of Canada, Limited,
Toronto, Canada.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 80-5295

ISBN 0-345-29892-6

This edition published by arrangement with Random House, Inc.

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Ballantine Books Edition: December 1981

Cover photograph by Anthony Loew

 For my mother
and in memory of my father
 I

On Thursday, Dade Cooley came home to an empty

house. It was only five o'clock, but since it was February it
was already getting dark. He turned on the lights, almost
stumbling over the luggage which was everywhere, lit a
fire in the small marble fireplace in the sitting room and
mixed himself an Old Fashioned. On the coffee table was
the copy of Vogue they had both been waiting for. It
contained Ellen's piece on their trip the year before to
Italy. He picked it up, turned to the article and began
leafing through it. There was an illustration showing Rav-
ello, a thousand feet above the Amalfi Drive, carved out
of the cliffs.

He He was late. He put down the

glanced at his watch.
magazine and went upstairs to bathe. Turning on the ra-
dio, he heard the announcer say that Dr. Dan would be
with them in a moment to tell everybody what kind of
weather he had in store for the Bay Area. Stripping off his
clothes and putting them on the window seat in the bed-
room, Dade looked out across San Francisco and the dark
clouds over the Bay and decided that the storm might
break before Dr. Dan had a chance to predict it.
A few minutes later, the twangy voice of Dr. Dan said,
"From the mountains to the sea, a good, good evening.
Well, tonight's a night to snuggle under the covers—or
maybe under the bed if thunderstorms scare you. The
storm system that hit the Los Angeles area on Tuesday,
bringing the southland a Valentine's Day present of three
point two inches of rain, has been working its way north
for the last two days and is expected to dump at least that
1
2 Murder Mystery
much on our fair city starting tonight, with a pretty strong
possibilityof the same thunder-and-lightning show the
folks down south just enjoyed."
Dade switched off the radio, annoyed. He had to be on
the plane to Los Angeles at eight that night That meant
flying in a thunderstorm. It didn't bother him, but when
Ellen found out she would try to stop him. Going into the
bathroom, he turned on the steaming-hot water in the
walking tub Ellen had insisted on buying with the money
she had gotten from the Vogue piece. ("Darling, it's deep
and holds the heat far better than the new ones and it's
it

six feet long." "Goddamned thing looks like a sarcoph-

agus.") He studied his naked body in the mirror, trying
to decide how much of his sixty-year-old paunch was fat
and how much sagging muscles, tightened his stomach,
looked at the result with satisfaction and decided he did
not need to diet, only to exercise, something he would
think about come spring. Slapping his left hand against his
lower belly and holding it in, he thrust his right hand into
the air as brandishing a trident, like the Poseidon in the
if

Athens Museum, shook his hoary locks and recited the

opening of The Iliad in Greek, ending with the words
"divine Achilles," then got into the tub.
Fifteen minutes later, he had shaved and was dressing
when he heard Ellen's key in the lock. He went to the hall
and looked down the narrow staircase. "Billy Blue Hill! I
thought I told you to ring the bell when you come home
to an empty house."
"It isn't empty. You're here."
"You didn't know that."
"What good would it do?" She was carrying packages
through the sitting room into the kitchen.
Dade hurried downstairs, still finishing dressing. "It's to
scare burglars, honey." He followed her into the kitchen
and began taking things out of the paper bags she had set
down on the drainboard. He picked up a can of albacore
and whistled at the price. "I told you to buy the cheap
kind."
"It has porpoise in it."
"Oh, bullshit. Porpoise won't hurt you. Next time, you
ring that bell."
 Murder Mystery 3
"Darling, what use is it to scare him? I mean, he has no
way out. There's no back door. Where on earth do you ex-
pect the poor burglar to go?"
"Just do like I tell you and don't you go feeling sorry
for criminals."
She looked at him. "Why are you all dressed up?"
"I saw your piece, darling. It looks just wonderful."
"I asked you a question."
"I've got to go out in about an hour."
"Where?"
*To see a client." He avoided her eyes and went back
into the sitting room, asking whether she wanted a drink.
"No. Yes." She followed him into the room, looking at
him steadily. Her eyes were lidded and dark-blue. In the
half-light, she looked thirty. She was forty-five, with a face
like a Watteau miniature. When he had anything impor-
tant to say to her, he found himself looking away to col-
lect his thoughts. She saw him avert his eyes now and
asked what was the matter.
"Well talk about it later." He began mixing her a kir.
"I wish we had children."
"We have four."
"I meant small ones."
"Abigail is only sixteen."
"But she's never home."
"Darling, what's the matter?"
"I said, we'll talk about it later." He had finished mak-
ing her drink. He handed it to her. She sipped it. He
looked at her. "Well?"
"It's fine."
"Well, then, say so."
"Must you always have praise?"
"I go to trouble."
The doorbell rang repeatedly. She said, "Jonah," went
to the front door, opened it and, standing at the top of the
stairs, pulled on a lever to open the downstairs door. A
tall boy with curly blond hair, a black leather jacket,

leather pants and boots ran up the stairs and put his cold
cheek to his mother's lips, then went toward his father.
Dade said, "Where is my little boy and what have you
done with him?"
4 Murder Mystery
'Tapa." The boy hugged him. "I have to talk to you.
Right now."
"I have him first," said Ellen.
"Come in and sit down," said Dade.
"I can't. She's downstairs. The girl I'm with."
"Why you bring her up?" asked Ellen.
didn't
"I'm parked in a red zone. She has to watch the bike or
they'll tow it away. Papa, can we use the cabin?"
"For immoral purposes?"
"Oh, Papa."
"No."
"What do you want me to be, furtive?"
"Discreet."
"Well be discreet"
"Be discreet somewhere else."
"Why?"
"I just don't like it. Sonny, I've told you before, you can
do whatever you like, just so long as you don't attract at-
tention."
"But that's all changed."
"I haven't"
"The world is different now."
'The world has made a mistake. And it's not the first

time."
"Mommy—?"
"Your father has spoken." Behind her husband's back,
Ellen nodded at her son, a finger to her lips.
"Do you need some money?" Dade pulled out a
twenty-dollar bill and gave it to him. Jonah kissed him.
"Thanks." Jonah grinned and started out, then turned
and read in the paper about your friend. The one
said, "I
down south who got killed. I'm awfully sorry."
"Thank you."
— —
"The girl the daughter I forget her name—"
"Rachel?"
"She tried to reach you."
"I just talked to her this afternoon."
"Well, she called here yesterday morning. I was here,
getting some stuff. Anyway, she was all shook up and
when I said that the two of you were in France, she
said" — —
Jonah imitated a girl's voice " 'Oh, noV And then
 " "

Murder Mystery 5

I explained you were due in late last night and she said
she'd call you back and that was that. Oh, and a cop came
by asking to see you."
"When?"
"Yesterday morning. When I said you were both out of
the country, he just thanked me and left, but afterward I
got to wondering
—
"I'm her executor," Dade said. "That must be why they
sent him."
Jonah glanced watch. "Hey, I've got to get out of
at his
here!" He kissed his parents, then ran for the door,
clumping down the stairs two at a time.
Ellen called out, "Wait! The chicken!" She started after
him.
"Never mind the chicken," said Dade.
"But I made it for him."
"He doesn't need the chicken and you don't need to get
a look at that girl." He closed the door and headed back
into the sitting room. "You told him yes, didn't you?"
"Well, of course I did. Why did you have to put him
through that?"
"I'm an old-fashioned man."
"Oh, come off it, Dade. When you were his age—**
"When I was his age, I was a country boy at
Muskingum College — just

"Not mention Oxford and Harvard Law School."

to
"I'd assoon you didn't."
Ellen looked away, pointing out the window. "Here it

comes," she said. It began to rain. Dade stole a glance at

his watch. Ellen took a sip of her drink, then set it down
and said, "All right, what'sgoing on?"
"It's time for the news." He turned on the television.
She turned it off. "I am interested in your news."
It was raining heavily now. Dade looked out the win-
dow at the storm and said, thinking of Jonah, "God damn
it, I don't want him on the goddamned motorcycle in the

goddamned rain."
"He's twenty-two and it's his own life."
'There's a old fairy tale about this here giant nobody
could kill 'cause his life was hidden somewheres, I mean,
he didn't have it on him, so to speak. You know where he
 " "

6 Murder Mystery
hid it? In a egg in the hollow of a tree. You understand
what I'm saying to you, Ellen?*'
"These aren't storybook children and you have to let
them alone! They're grown up now!"
"I don't care to discuss the matter further."
"Good. Then we can talk about where you're off to."
*Tell you the truth
—
" There was a clap of thunder. He
grimaced.
She picked up a tablet by the phone with something
scrawled on it in his handwriting. It read "Cleave. Con-
jure. Toilet." "What is 'Cleave. Conjure. Toilet'?"
"I'm making a list of words that mean their own op-
posites. I'm going to call them Cooley Opponyms. Fella
bet me I couldn't think of more than three."
"I don't think you can get away with 'toilet.'
"Clean, dirty?"
"No."
"I guess not" He took out a gold pencil and ruefully
crossed it out.
She looked over his shoulder and saw the name of a
cemetery in Los Angeles scribbled at the bottom of the
page. Pointing at it, she asked, "Isn't that where — ?"

"Yes."
"The funeral's tomorrow, isn't it?"
"As a matter of fact, I thought —
"Well, you can stop thinking it. You're not going. Not
in this weather."
He
put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her
steadily. "Honey, I have to go." There was a flash of
lightning and then more thunder. He braced himself for
a fight
She looked at him for a moment and then surprised him
by saying, "All right. My God, poor Miriam!" She picked
up a clipping from a rosewood sewing stand and handed it
to Dade. "Here. I cut this out for you."
Putting on his glasses, Dade read it carefully, pointing
at the words with a thick forefinger and moving his lips. It
said:

Miriam Buffet Welles Dies: Wife of Art Collector

Jensen Welles died at the age of 36 after an accident at
 Murder Mystery 7

her home in Malibu, California. A former member of

the Los Angeles Art Commission, Mrs. Welles was also
prominent in numerous charities associated with the art
world. Well-known in art circles, she was considered by
many one of the country's leading authenticators of
Renaissance painting.
For many years, Miriam Buffett acted as curator of
the Welles Collection, arranging for exhibitions and for
the acquisition of additional canvases. On the death of
the first Mrs. Welles after a long illness, the betrothal of
Miriam Buffett to Jensen Welles was announced the fol-
lowing spring. In recent years, Miriam Welles has been
associated with Proulx GaHeries in Los Angeles, through
which many important acquisitions have been made,
adding to the already distinguished private collection of
Jensen Welles, the most recent of which is the Botticelli
"Venus of the Grotto."
Mrs. Welles, who died Tuesday, leaves her husband
and a stepdaughter, Rachel Welles, who resides with her
father.

Dade frowned. "When Rachel called, she was crying so

hard I had trouble understanding her. When I got her
calmed down, she said she had something important to tell
me. Just then, she was interrupted. She said, Wait a
minute.' When she came back on the line, she kept her
voice down and said, *I can't talk now.' I told her I'd
phone her back and she said, *No, don't,* and asked me
not to tell anyone she'd called. She sounded scared to
death. I said, 'You want me to come down there?' and she
started crying to beat the band and said, 'Please help me/
so I said I'd go."
"Well, she's only eighteen and you said they were close.
Girls at that age can be very dramatic."
"Well just have to see. Want to come along?"
She shook her head. "I can't."
"Sure?"
"I promised myself I'd start on the new piece."
"Which one?"
"Ancient magic."
8 Murder Mystery
"I wish there were a magical way of getting me out of
this trip."
may just he magic that's
"It gotten you into it."
"Come again?"
*The kabbala says that the souls of men and women
who die prematurely are driven to haunt mankind until
they are laid to rest."
He stared at her. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
'Then I think you should go back to writing about
travel."
"Spoilsport. But you know, the kabbala may just turn
out to be right." She helped him pack an overnight case
and called a cab.
"I'll just get Miriam's papers together and make a few

calls. Til stay over tomorrow night."

"Want me to pick you up at the airport Saturday?"
"I'll call you from the inn." At the door, bundled up in

his overcoat, he gave her a kiss and said, "Wish me luck."

"Merde!" she said with a grin.
"Merde!" His eyes lit up. Taking out his pencil and his
pad, he triumphantly added the word to his list, then hur-
ried out into the rainy night
 II

The services were private. They were held at ten o'clock in

the morning in a small cemetery in Hollywood. tall A
hedge of yew separated it from the back lot of a movie
studio. High stone walls and dense planting made the
place seem like no more than a garden and kept out the
curious. Inside the wrought-iron gates, birds sang and
muted fountains plashed. The stone houses of the
little

rich dead lined the gravel walks, reminiscent of the villas

of Pompeii. Once inside, one forgot that this was now the
wrong part of town. Neighborhoods change. The rich
move elsewhere. But it is difficult to move a cemetery, and
this one was now an oasis in a slum.
Inside the chapel, the invited guests sat in respectful
silence while the minister delivered a eulogy, referring
briefly to the way which the deceased had died and
in
seeking to discover the hand of God in a freak accident.
The services ended. Ushers whispered requests to the
mourners, asking them to file by the coffin row by row, be-
ginning with those sitting at the rear. Dade got to his feet
and walked up the side aisle. He looked down at the body
of Miriam Welles. She was dressed in an antique Persian
robe, saffron silk embroidered with birds and flowers in
rich colors. Her thick dark hair, long and lustrous, framed
her head in soft waves. Dade studied the beautiful face. It
looked different, almost unfamiliar. He wondered why.
Then it occurred to him that someone else had put on her
make-up. He took the rose from his lapel and placed it
gently on the body. As he turned to go, he saw Jensen sit-
ting in the front row, a tall lean figure with hooded eyes
9
10 Murder Mystery
and a long nose. His elbows were balanced on the arm-
rests of thepew and the powerful hands were clasped as if
in prayer. Dade looked around for Rachel. He did not see
her.The seat next to Jensen was conspicuously empty.
Dade went outside and waited with the crowd. A hearse
was parked there, a uniformed attendant furtively drag-
ging on a cigarette behind the open back door.
A woman's voice said, "Dade." It was Nettie Proulx.
She squeezed his arm. He patted her ringed hand. "Oh,
Dade," she said. Even in the way she spoke his name, he
could hear the slight French accent. She looked up at him,
her soft plump face puffy with grief. She was fifty but
Dade had never before seen her look her age. She asked in
a low voice, "How did she look? Tell me the truth. I just
couldn't go up there." She looked at him with her two-
colored eyes, one blue, one brown.
*'Very nioe, same as always, just like somebody sleep-
ing."
"Are you serious?" When he nodded, she said, "But I
—
heard that when they found her oh, it's too awful!" Her
voice had become a hoarse whisper. She put a hand to her
mouth, shaking her head.
Dade said, "I don't see Rachel. Where is she?"
*Tm sure she's here. She must be."
Gil and Chloe Ransohoff moved toward them. They had
been sitting near Dade at the back of the chapel. Chloe
had the body of a girl, full breasts, a small waist and a flat
stomach. She wore a nutria coat over her shoulders and
had a way of standing, arms akimbo, so that the expen-
sive coat did not hide her figure. The doll's face under the
perfectly groomed platinum-blond hair was almost hard,
the lips compressed, the expression set. When she caught
Dade's eyes, her features relaxed into a conscious social
smile.
"She wasmy best friend," Chloe said.
Gil nodded to Dade, who nodded back. Gil was a hand-
some man in his forties with greenish eyes and a curved
goat's smile. He smiled at Dade now. Dade did not like
Gil's smile. It was insolent, familiar, like a stranger calling
him by his first name.
Turning away, Dade saw a woman he thought he knew.
 "

Murder Mystery 11

He was about to speak to her when he realized that she

was not a friend but an actress he had only seen a few
times on television. She was about the same age as
Miriam. Her eyes were extraordinary. They had a remark-
able clarity but were almost expressionless in the way that
the eyes of Greek statues often seem, as if their gaze were
fixed on eternity. Her glance brushed over him. An older
man leaned on her arm. They turned away and started
strolling down the gravel path. The man walked unstead-
ily,clinging to her arm.
All the mourners had come out of the chapel now and
they were gathered in groups, their voices low, waiting for
Jensen. Attendants wheeled the now-closed casket out of
the chapel and lifted it off the gurney into the hearse. Jen-
sen had still not appeared. Dade remembered that he had
left his hat on his chair and, excusing himself, went back
into the chapel to get As he started out again, he caught
it.

perched on his long nose, bending

sight of Jensen, glasses
over a guest book on a lighted lectern in an alcove, the fu-
neral director standing at his elbow.
Jensen said, "You're quite sure? These are, after all, pri-
vate services."
"We did not invite them, Mr. Welles."
Jensen grunted, turning away. Catching sight of Dade,
he held out his hand. Dade grasped it. The hand was dry
and firm. Jensen tightened his grip. For a man his age, his
strength was impressive.
"May I offer you my sympathies, Jensen?"
"Thank you for coming. We'll be gathering at the house
afterward. If you'd care to come by —
"Something's come up. I'm afraid I have to wait around
at the inn for a phone call."
"I understand." Jensen took his elbow and steered him
toward the doors of the chapel. The funeral director
bowed to him. Jensen turned and stared at him. "Don't do
that," he said. He walked out into the sunshine with Dade.
Faces turned toward them. Jensen remained standing in
the doorway, looking slowly around, as if he were about to
issue a statement. Then, dropping Dade's arm abruptly,
Jensen walked over toward Chloe and Gil, extending his
12 Murder Mystery
hand. Gil shook hands with him and began to express his
sympathy when Jensen interrupted him, saying, "I am
sorry you won*t be able to stay longer."
Taken aback, Gil started to say something, then broke
off because Jensen held his eyes with an unflinching stare.
Taking Chloe's arm, he gave Jensen a brief nod and then
hurried his wife away toward a gate in the hedge leading
to the parking lot
Jensen offered Nettie his arm. Together, they began to
walk toward the burial place, the mourners following.
Dade thought, I should ask him about Rachel. He decided
against it
 Ill

The gathering after the funeral was at the Welles house in

Malibu. Sighing, Dade drove his rented car back toward
the beach, brow furrowed, the crocodile eyes narrowed in
thought. Rachel had asked him to wait at the inn for her
call. "Let me call you" she had said. She had been very
definite about it. He checked his watch. The guests would
be at the Welles house for an hour or two. Probably she
would wait for them to leave before calling him. It was a
sunny day. He would lie on the beach and read a book.
He drove north now on Pacific Coast Highway, climb-
ing up past the low stucco tile-roofed buildings and sweep-
ing lawns of the university, then past a cluster of ex-
pensive new tract houses high on a hill. It was a gray day
with not too much traffic on the road. The highway, four
lanes with a center divider, sliced through the hills above
the water. Malibu was not picturesque. It faced south be-
cause of the northern curve of Santa Monica Bay on
which it was built, but it was a long curve, almost twenty-
six miles, unrelieved by inlets or islands, which made the
flat calm sea wide and monotonous. To his right the cliffs
were deeply eroded, which gave the place an insubstantial
look. The hills and the mouths of the canyons were all
covered with low-growing natives like sumac and chapar-
ral. The trails up into the hills were dry and uninviting.
But now in February, the mustard had come out and all
the hills were dusted with gold, giving the stark landscape
a sudden beauty.
On impulse, Dade made a U-turn on the highway and
headed south again toward the Colony, making a left at
13
14 Murder Mystery
the Civic Center, which looked like a model of the stoa in
Athens, and pulled up in front of the sheriffs station. He
might as well ask for details of the accident Then, if
Rachel had questions, he could answer them.
He got out of the car in front of the long low colon-
naded building, climbed the shallow steps and went toward
dark-tinted plate-glass double doors.
The waiting room was large, with a counter at one end.
Dade walked up and gave his card to a uniformed young
woman, a deputy. "I want to ask a few questions about
the Welles case. I'm the executor for the estate."
Behind the counter, a door at the side was open and
Dade could see into the squad room. A lieutenant came
into the squad room from a glassed-in cubicle at the back.
The woman deputy pressed a lever on an intercom and
said into it, "Lieutenant, who's handling the Welles case?"
Dade watched as the lieutenant stopped, leaned over a
desk, his back to them, and depressed a key on another in-
tercom. "Wait a minute," they heard him say. At a table,
two young deputies were playing cards. Their hair was
sun-bleached from spending all their off-duty time surfing.
The lieutenant threw a paper clip at one of them to get his
attention. "Brandt, who's got the file on the Welles case?"
"You have," the deputy said, looking up. His young
face was cracked with fine lines and the blue of his eyes
was washed out, as if by the sea. "I put it back on your
desk. Accidental death." Brandt turned to his partner, put-
ting down the cards in his hand. "Gin."
"We're playing poker."
"I just wanted you to get a look at a really lousy hand."
"I'm handling it," the lieutenant said into the intercom.
"Someone here wants to talk to you," said the deputy.
"Is he a reporter?"
"No, sir, he's an attorney." She read from the card
Dade had given her. "A Mr. Dade Cooley."
"Who's he representing?"
"He's the executor for the deceased."
"Ask him to wait a couple of minutes." His back still to
them, the lieutenant released the intercom key and went
back into his cubicle. Dade saw him pick up a telephone
and punch out a number.
 "

Murder Mystery 15

The deputy at the counter said, "The lieutenant asks—

"Yes, Iheard him. Many thanks." Dade walked away,
pulling a magazine out of his inside coat pocket, and fol-
lowed a sign which read men down a hall to a lavatory.
He was washing his hands, the magazine under one
arm, as the lieutenant came into the men's room. A
nameplate on the breast pocket of his uniform read lt.
refugio valdez. Dade whistled under his breath, shut off
the faucet and reached for a paper towel. As the lieu-
tenant turned toward the washstand, Dade dropped the
magazine and the lieutenant retrieved it, handing it to him.
Thanking him, Dade said, brandishing it, "You know,
there's a Hottentot tribal ceremony during which a re-
spected elder urinates on the bride and bridegroom at a
wedding?"
"No, I didn't know that, sir."
"Fact. Says so right here in the Smithsonian. An apt re-
mark, given our present business, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, sir, that is true."
Dade stuffed the magazine into his coat pocket and be-
gan blotting his hands on a paper towel. He glanced up,
briefly studying the lieutenant's face in the mirror. He had
straight black hair, large moist eyes, a thick mustache and
a wide smile with big white teeth.
"Piece also suggests some adults can distinguish sex by
the odor of the urine." Dade glanced at the lieutenant's
uniform, then added, "Now, there's something fits right
into your own line of work, isn't that so?"
The lieutenant busied himself at the basin, saying, "Es-
pecially considering that my work often involves a process
of elimination."
Dade's eyes twinkled with appreciation. "Son, this has
been a felicitous conversation." He strode out of the men's
room and then watched as Lieutenant Valdez went
through a side door into the squad room and hurried
across it toward the cubicle. After a moment, Dade fol-
lowed him.
Valdez picked up a report lying on his desk and, his
back to Dade, began leafing through it quickly. The report
was in a manila folder and there was a supplemental sheet
clipped to the outside. Removing the supplemental sheet,
16 Murder Mystery
he reached over and stuffed it into the top drawer of his
desk, after which he depressed the intercom key and said,
"Okay, send him in."
"I'm already here, Lieutenant."
Valdez turned and saw Dade standing in the doorway.
Surprised, he grinned. "Mr. Dade Cooley?"
"Lieutenant Valdez? Well, well, it is a small world.
Larger, certainly, than the one in which we met but small-
er than we know." Dade took a business card from a dog-
eared leather case and placed it on the corner of the
lieutenant's desk, then, at a gesture from Valdez, settled
himself in the visitor's chair.
The lieutenant sat down, picked up the card, glanced at
it and then said in a matter-of-fact voice, "How can I

help you, sir?"

The sound of the sheriffs helicopter landing on the pad
outside the window made it impossible for them to talk for
a moment. Dade got to his feet and walked over to the
window, watching the landing. A
moment later, the pilot
switched off the engine. Dade turned and said, "I was out
of the country when this thing happened. Tuesday, wasn't
it?"
"That's right."
"I just learned about ityesterday."
"We tried to find you, sir." The lieutenant consulted the
report on his desk, then looked up. "You reside at 3614
Jackson Street in San Francisco?"
"That's correct"
"The Northern station sent a car up to Pacific Heights
the morning after the body was found. He telephoned this
office at nine-ten a.m. saying that you were out of the
country and couldn't be reached, at which time, having
made the appropriate efforts to notify you, we released the
name of the deceased to the press." His tone was slightly
defensive. It changed then, became apologetic. "We did
try, sir."
"Mrs. Cooley and I were in France. We
were going to
take a canal trip but they don't start up until about mid-
April. Very restful. Those barges go slower than I can
walk, you know that? Once I did three miles on the tow-
path and beat it to the next Cistercian abbey by half an
 Murder Mystery 17

hour. Well, no matter. You tried and you have my

thanks."
"So long as you understand, sir."
"Anyway, we got back to San Francisco Wednesday
and Rachel called me the following day, yesterday. You
know Rachel?"
"No, I don't, sir."
"She's Jensen's daughter. Well, she went to tell me what
all had happened and started crying so hard, I couldn't un-
derstand most of what she said. But of course I came
straight down. For the funeral."
"That was today?"
'That's correct I wonder if you'd set my mind at ease?
Just tell me what happened."
Nodding, Valdez called out, "Brandt!" through the open
door. The sunburned deputy put down his cards, got
slowly to his feet with a creaking of leather and ambled
toward his superior, putting his hands on the door frame
and leaning into the lieutenant's office.
"Yes, sir."
"I read your report. Some of it."
"Uh-huh."
"What was the cause of death?"
"It's in my report."
"That must be the part I couldn't make out." The teeth
gleamed white under the bristling mustache.
"Look, the coroner give me all that. You know how he
talks. All them bullshit words, me standing in that god-
damn downpour, it's a wonder I could read my notes at
all. Her spine snapped, okay?"

Valdez gave a quick, apprehensive look at Dade, then

said, "Brandt, this is Mr. Dade Cooley, an attorney.
He's—"
But Dade interrupted him, saying, "I'm just an inter-
ested party. I wonder if you could tell me what happened?
In your own words."
"Well, lady was hit and killed by her own car."
"Her own car. I see. What kind of car?" Dade took out
a notebook and began jotting things down as he ques-
tioned Brandt.
"A Rolls. She left it in drive, got out to close the garage
 — " —
18 Murder Mystery
door 'cause the automatic thing wouldn't work, and I
guess she really didn't have the brakes on 'cause the damn
thing suddenly took off and smashed into her."
"Any idea how fast?" Dade asked him.
"No tire tracks in that rain. Didn't matter. Coroner said
it was how she was hit, that was all there was to it."
just
"A Rolls? You say she drove a Rolls?"
"Well, it wasn't her car. See, hers was down to the Arco
station being fixed. It had just been fixed, that is, and the
old man —I'm sorry, sir
H
"He's sixty-seven. You can call him an old man."
"Well, the sixty-seven-year-old man —her husband, that
is —went down to the Ajco station with his daughter to
pick up hers, her being sick in bed."
"Who was sick in bed?"
"Decedent. Mrs. Welles. Not what you'd call real sick,
she just had a cold and went to bed, and since her hus-
band and his daughter was both going out, they offered to
bring back her car."
"They went together?"
"Yes, sir."
Valdez handed the report to Dade, who leafed through
it, "What time was this?"
asking,
"Around eight-thirty. It was raining like hell, had been
for hours. Father and daughter, they go out front and get
into this Mercedes coupe —
"Whose car?"
"Hers. The father, he always drives the Rolls — he's the
—
only one drives it the dames both hated it but — the mud
was so bad he didn't think he could get
in the driveway,
the car out. See, you have to back out of the garage and
then back up this steep little hill and then swing around
see, the garage is down on a cliff, out at the end of the
house. There's a long driveway. Nobody would want to
back up it, so they've got themselves this steep little road
like a bunny slope up at a ski resort, and that's where you
have to back up to turn around."
"I remember
that driveway," Dade said.
"She her father off at the Arco station and then
lets
drives on into Venice to meet her boyfriend at a cafe
there."
 " "

Murder Mystery 19

"It says here," Dade murmured, leafing through the re-

port, "that Mr. Welles drove into Beverly Hills to go to his
office."
"Yes, sir."
"Must have been quite a drive for an old man, all the
way from Malibu into town in a storm like that."
"Yes, sir. Especially with a couple of belts in him."
"Oh?"
"Stoppedoff afterward at a bar downstairs from his of-
fice.But the bartender says he only had two and they
weren't quick belts, he was there a good half-hour."
"I see.And then?"
—
"Well, the daughter Rachel, I think her name is she —
returns about eleven-thirty, goes down the drive and at
first, she thinks her stepmother is backing out because the

garage door is open and the motherfucking Rolls is going

full blast Christ, I'm sorry I said that
—
"Just keep talking, sonny."
"Yeah. Well, like I say, it's going full blast, belching
fumes. She honks so's her stepmother won't back into
— —
her the maid heard that and then drives into the ga-
rage, gets out of her own car and then sees there's nobody
in the Rolls. Then she sees the decedent. There's this block
wall at the far end of the garage and the Rolls had pinned
the decedent right up against it. She was dead, of course,
dead for hours is what the coroner says, and slumped
over, pinned by her hips and legs, which is why the girl
didn't see her at first.
"Anyway, the girl starts in screaming and the maid
hears her. She comes charging out just as the Welles girl is
getting into the Rolls, trying to pull it the hell out of the
way. Maid runs to the body, which hits the garage floor at
that point. Girl backs up Rolls and smashes into a tree,
which is damn lucky because the shape she was in, I think
she'dVe gone right over that cliff. Anyway, girl barrels
into the house and calls the paramedics. We get there with
them, less than ten minutes after we get the call. It's a
mopping-up operation, all the while this broad screaming
at them to help
—
"To help?"
. "She wanted the Pulmotor. She wanted mouth-to-mouth.
20 Murder Mystery
She wanted any frigging thing she could think of to save
the lady, yelling at everybody, *How do you know she's
dead?' and, man, I never saw a body so dead in my life.
Coroner says she'd been dead somewheres between, oh,
two or three hours. She was dead, all right."
'Time of death sometime between eight-thirty and
nine-thirty, that what you're saying?" Dade asked.
"Yes, sir," Brandt answered. "Decedent last seen alive
by the stepdaughter at eight-thirty, and death occurred
sometime in the next hour."
Dade studied the deputy's pale-blue eyes for some mo-
ments and then asked, "What happened when you checked
the transmitter?"
"The one in the Rolls?"
"That's right."
"Wouldn't work. Our guys brought it in and took it
apart."
"Battery?"
"Nope. Battery was fine. What went wrong is what usu-
ally happens. You know how women handle them things,
just like they was tubes of toothpaste, and you mash down
hard on that little button and you bend the metal so that it
won't make contact anymore. Happens all the time. What
I figure is, she backed up that pushed the trans-
little hill,

mitter, garage door wouldn't work, she put on the brake

but not enough, ran down the hill to close the door man-
ually, the Rolls slips the brake and comes charging toward
her, she runs into the garage to get out of the way and the
damn thing smashes the lady against the back wall."
"But you just told me the ladies didn't like that car and
didn't drive it if they could help it They can't have used
the transmitter in it much."
Deputy Brandt hadn't thought of this. He frowned,
thinking.
"Check the screw?" Dade asked.
idle
sir." Brandt gave Dade a look of admiration. "Set
"Yes,
too high. That could have been the reason. If the brakes
gave, the thing would've taken off. I guess that's what hap-
pened."
"A last question," Dade said. "Your report says the lady
 "

Murder Mystery 21

was sick in bed, that that's how come she didn't go down
with her husband to get her own car."
"Yes, sir. Maid told us that, and the husband and the
daughter both."
"Any idea where the deceased was going? Your report
doesn't say."
"No, but I thought it was away on a There was a
trip.
suitcase in the trunk. Way it turns out, she'd just come back
from one. She and the husband went on a trip some-
wheres. Up to Santa Barbara a few days before. Came
back and just left her suitcase in the car. Forgot about it."
Dade looked at him, surprised. "I don't find that in the
report," he said.
The lieutenant looked at Brandt with amazement
Brandt's face reddened. He said, "It's not there."
The lieutenant got to his feet, leaned across the desk
and said in a low, cutting voice, "Just why the hell not?"
"I forgot, sir." He swallowed, embarrassed. "Jeez, it was
pouring rain and me trying to calm down this broad and
write a report with the husband showing up in the middle
of it and him collapsing, chest pains, it was, so they had to
take the body out of the ambulance to put him in—Christ,
when the coroner told me, 'Death by misadventure' he —
said, Don't quote me yet but that's the way it looks well, —
I just kind of wrapped things up. I came back here and
wrote my report, and the next day I remembered I hadn't
put in about the suitcase but by then the coroner had al-
ready made it official and I couldn't see it meant Jack
Shit, I mean, about the damn suitcase —
hell, these rich
folks are always running off to hell and gone
—people like —
that leave town if you fart out loud
Dade asked softly, "What was in the suitcase?"
"Just a few clothes. Hers."
"Did you impound it?" the lieutenant asked him.
"No, sir. Didn't seem any reason to."
"You make a list of what was in it?" Valdez asked.
"I didn'topen it, sir."
"Then how do you know what was in it?"
— —
"The old guy the husband told me. I was going to
check it out, just for form's sake and I started to ask the
husband to open it but ." He trailed off.
. .
22 Murder Mystery
"You started to ask him?" Dade prompted him.
'That's right when he collapsed. He just grabbed at his
chest and fell down in the driveway."
"Youcall a doctor?"
"Well, by then the coroner had arrived, so we had him
take a look at Mr. Welles. Sounds kind of funny, having a
living person examined by a coroner, but he is a doctor,
and when he 'Get him to a hospital,' well, we just
said,
took the damn body out of the ambulance I mean, she —
was dead, she could wait, you can see my point and they —
took him off to Santa Monica. I figure it was nothing be-
cause when we got ready to release the body, he was on
the phone making the arrangements to have the mortuary
pick it up."
There was a silence. Valdez looked at Dade inquiringly.
—
Dade asked, "The girl Rachel Welles did she ever —
make any suggestion that something was amiss?"
"Sir?" Brandt looked blank.
"I mean, was she satisfied?" Brandt's pale eyes looked
puzzled. Dade gestured, explaining. "When you talked to
her later. After the shock had worn off."
"I never talked to her later, sir."
"Why not?"
"Well, there was no reason. The coroner, he said it was
an accident, and I mean we didn't investigate. There was
nothing to investigate."
"What about you, Lieutenant?"
The lieutenant shook his head. 'Tve never even met her.
Case was never assigned to us to investigate."
"But Welles," said Dade, "he talked to somebody. Ac-
cording to this report, he talked to the coroner."
'To the coroner's office, that means. I was there, as it
happens," said the lieutenant "Welles asked to talk to
him, but the coroner didn't even know who he was, and he
was busy, so when he heard that Welles just wanted to
know when the body would be released, he said, *Now.'
Wouldn't have been any delay at all except that in cases
like this, an autopsy is routine and his office was backed
up. Anything else?"
"No," said Dade. "Nothing else." Dade thanked Brandt
for his trouble.
 " "

Murder Mystery 23

The lieutenant gave Brandt a short nod of dismissal,

saying, "We'll talk about this later. That's all for now."
Brandt nodded at Dade and left the room hastily, bang-
ing the glass-paneled door behind him.
"I'm sorry," Valdez said.
"It's all right."
"I'm blaming him. I should blame myself. Trouble is,
once the coroner called it accidental, there was no reason
to investigate any further." He drew a long breath. "I can
see what happened. We had some bad fires this year. A
storm like that usually means mud slides. A coroner has to
have a pretty good reason to tie up a crew going over the
ground for clues, and if it looked to him like nothing but a
freak accident
—
"And that's what you think was?"
it

"Well, I suppose people always smell something when

there's money involved."
"Family has money. Miriam, she didn't have a dime."
Dade got slowly to his feet.
"If you have any other questions
—
"Seems to me you've answered them all. Many thanks.
Oh, and don't worry about that suitcase. I'll be taking
charge of it. It's my responsibility now."
The lieutenant went over and opened the door for
Dade. As Dade pushed open the heavy glass door of the
squad room, it reflected the room behind him. Dade hesi-
tated, pulling on his hat and watching the reflection of the
lieutenant jerking his head at a nondescript man sitting in
a chair against the wall, reading a newspaper. The man
folded his paper, rose and came toward him. The lieu-
tenant indicated Dade's retreating back, then went into his
office and closed the door.
 IV

It was almost one o'clock when Dade drove into the park-
ing lot at the inn. He
stopped at the desk. There were no
messages. Grunting, he headed for his room. It was down
at the water's edge, newly remodeled, since the last series
of high tides had flooded the lower level and washed half
of it away. Most of the inn was on the bluff above. There
had been a small pool and a terrace but the torrential
rains of the year before had caused a landslide and the
terrace had caved in. The expensive suites on the beach
reached by a tiny funicular had suffered from this. What
damage they had previously escaped from the raging surf
had later been done by falling masonry. The debris had
been hauled away and the thin-walled suites rebuilt, each
with a fireplace and a kitchen and sliding glass doors open-
ing onto a small deck above the sandy beach.
Dade stomped into the room, banged shut the door,
poured himself a stiff drink from his flask and then
stretched out on the king-size bed complete with vibrator
attachment into which you were supposed to put coins.
Curious, he put in a couple of quarters. The bed began to
vibrate. He had felt the same thing before, during a minor
tremblor in San Francisco. The motion made him queasy.
He walked across the room and lowered his bulk into a
chair placed so that one had a view of the sea. The phone
rang. Finally. He grabbed it and said, "Hello? Hello?"
The operator said, "A Mr. Caldwell is in the lobby
asking to see you, sir. May I send him down?"
"I don't know anybody named CaldwelL You must have
the wrong room,"
24
 Murder Mystery 25

"Excuse it, sir." There was a click. He put down the

phone. He was about to change clothes when the phone
rang again. The operator said, "This is Mary at the desk.
Is this Mr. Dade Cooley?"
"Yes, it is."
"Well, the party here insists that you know him. He says
he's the attorney for a Mr. Welles. He apologizes for in-
truding on you at a time like this but would like to see
you."
"Oh, Caldwell Bollinger. All right, send him down."
Dade took off his jacket and vest, pulled on a sweater,
then went to the door, watching the funicular descend.
The man in it was heavyset, his weight concealed by a
double-breasted pin-striped suit The funicular jarred to a
stop.
Ballinger got out, looked around and then headed for
Dade's open door. He was an ugly man with a thick nose,
thick lips and dark eyes behind thick glasses. Ballinger ex-
tended a fleshy hand. "Good afternoon, Mr. Cooley."
Dade shook hands with him. "It's been a long time," he
said. He led Ballinger into what the brochure on the bu-
reau described as a "cabana suite." Two chairs were drawn
up in front of an empty blackened fireplace. Dade nodded
toward them.
Ballinger set down his brief case on the rickety table
and said, "This is a sad time for all of us."
"Yes, indeed." Dade seated himself and Ballinger did
the same.
He snapped open his brief case and started fishing for
something inside, nicking through papers, unsnapping
pouches and looking in them.
Dade said, "I had a third-grade teacher used to do
that. Every morning at the start of the school day, she
used to go through all the drawers in her desk, looking for
something. Never did find out what it was."
"Is that so?"
"Miss Barrett, her name was. Nice woman. As a favor
she used to let me stay after school to clean the erasers."
Ballinger found what he was looking for, a thick manila
envelope, and handed it to Dade. "This is yours, I believe,
sir. It's a court order giving you power of attorney as ex-
26 Murder Mystery
ecutor for the late Miriam Welles. You'll find the keys to
her safe-deposit box in it."
'Thank you kindly." Dade put the envelope in his
pocket.
Ballinger said, "Her papers, bank statements and the
like, both the personal ones and the ones for the gallery,
are the house. I can arrange to have them sent to
all at
you here or in San Francisco, whichever you prefer."
"You got my address up in San Francisco?"
'

"Yes, sir."
"Just sendthem along."
"Mr. Welles asked me to deliver a message to you."
"All right."
"He wanted me to express his appreciation to you for
attending the services,"
"Thank you."
"He knew you weren't planning to come by this after-
noon." When Dade looked up as if he were going to say
something, Ballinger held up a fat hand. "No, it's quite all
right. He understands." Ballinger hesitated for a moment,
then said: "They tell me you had some questions about
the sheriff's report. I was called just as a matter of form. I
told them to give you the fullest cooperation."
"Thank you very much."
"I hope the questions were answered to your satisfac-
tionr
"Um-hm. Jensen, I suppose he's satisfied?"
"Certainly."
"The investigation, it doesn't amount to much more
than an on-the-scene report from one patrolman."
Ballinger stretched out his hands, touching the palms
and rotating them, like a conjurer about to perform a
trick. He said, "There is nothing to investigate. Mrs.
Welles died in a tragic accident. A
prominent man like
Mr. Welles is quite aware that if an investigation is pro-
tracted, it would be bound to attract the attention of the
media. And to what end? Mr. Welles has suffered quite
enough. He has accepted what happened to his wife and
wants only to be left in peace." The brown skin wrinkled
around the eyes, magnified behind the thick lenses. pink A
tongue moistened the thick lips.
 Murder Mystery 27
"And poor Rachel, how is
she taking it?"
"As well as can be expected."
"Of course, the young regard death as an affront That's
because they have no experience of it."
"I'm sure that's very true." Ballinger began snapping
shut the compartments of his brief case.
"My wife told me about a tribe of aboriginals that re-
garded all deaths as caused by witchcraft. Reason was,
they had no experience of any person dying of natural
causes. I guess accidents are always hard to accept."
"Very interesting." Ballinger got to his feet 'Til be get-
ting along," he said.
Dade saw him to the door, saying, "You tell Jensen for
me that I appreciate this, you hear?"
Ballinger smiled, showing a little row of brownish teeth.
"Ill tell him."
Dade saw him out, and then called room service and or-
dered fresh sand dabs, asparagus, new potatoes and a pear
with a wedge of Roquefort "You folks got any of the
Spring Mountain Chardonnay left?"
"Just a minute, sir." A
pause, then: "No, sir. But I can
send you down some Chalone."
"Tnat'11 do nicely." He put down the phone, went into
the bathroom and took a shower. Afterward, he dried him-
self with a big rough towel, then stomped out into the
room, pulling fresh clothes from the suitcase and mutter-
ing, "I got my hair and I got the dick of a man of forty
and that's the secret, that's the fountain of youth and don't
let anybody kid you."
 V
A few minutes later, phone
the rang. He answered it and
Ellen's voice said, "Dade?"
"Ellen! Hi, honey."
"How are you, dearest?"
"I miss you."
"I'm sure you do. Oh darling, are you comfortable?"
"Sure."
"I can just see you in that awful place. It's so damp
there. Why on earth don't you build a fire?"
He stared at the empty fireplace. "How do you know I
haven't built a fire?"
"Because you left the back curtains open."
"Where the hell are you?"
"In the lobby. I'll be right down."
When he went outside, she was already descending in
the funicular, wearing a long beige coat with a fur collar,
her arms around herself as if she were cold. The car
stopped. He opened the cage door and tried to embrace
her. She stopped him.
"Be careful."
"What is it?"

"I have two logs under my coat. I got them from the
lobby." He took them from her. "Watch out. One of them
is still smoking."
Then went into his room and he built a fire. There was
a knock at the door. Ellen opened and
a bellboy,
it let in
his arms of groceries.
full
"You want me to put these things in the kitchen, lady?"
"Whatever gave you an idea like that?"
28
 —
Murder Mystery 29

The boy carried the bags to the pass-through, then

started taking the groceries out of the bags and setting
them down on the sideboard. He was a muscular boy
lean,
in his mid-twenties with lank blond hair and a deep tan.
Holding the package of bacon Ellen had bought, he
weighed it in his hand and said, "Nitrites. Bad." *"
"Your mother raised you right," she said.
The boy checked the refrigerator to see whether it was
working, tried the sink faucet and then glanced at the
stove. "We had trouble here after the rains. I just wanted
to make sure things were working."
"I guess that was a pretty terrible storm," Dade said.
"It was bad."
"Were you here?"
"Down the road."
"Well, you're a good boy and you can tell your mother I
said so," said Dade.
"She's not here, she's back East." He grinned at them.
His teeth were white, straight, with shovel-shaped incisors.
"Where do youlive?" Ellen asked.
"In an ashram." Seeing her puzzled look, he explained.
"Like a commune."
Dade came toward them and gave him a dollar. The
boy thanked him and stuffed it in his jeans pocket
"Why do you call it that?" Ellen asked.
"That's whatMahatma Yaksha calls it."
was suddenly full of interest. "You belong
Ellen's face
—
to that what do you call it, Mission of Light?"
"Holy light. Yes, ma'am."
"May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"You won't mind?" He shrugged. She said, "Well,
doesn't it bother you, his driving around in a custom
Mercedes?"
He wish there were a better car
said, his face serious, "I
in the world —
you know what I mean? more expensive
so we could buy him that."
"How much do you give him?"
"Everything." He turned to Dade. "This money you
gave me. I don't keep it. It goes to the ashram. Everything
I make."
 "

30 Murder Mystery
that makes you happy?" Dade asked.
"And
"The Mahatma makes me happy. Happy isn't the word.
The Mahatma is my life. Everything." He took a card out
of his pocket, offering it to Dade. "Here." It read, "Help!
We clean up after everybody. No job too small. Ken and
Pete." There were two telephone numbers printed in the
corner, one for days and one for evenings.
"There are eight of us but we just put two names on the
card. I'm Pete. We do everything. Floors, windows,
pools
—
"You ever work at the Welles place, boy?"
"Where that lady was killed? Gee, that was a pretty sad
thing."
"You ever work there?"
"We bid a job."
"But you didn't work there."
"She was going to call us. Tell you the truth, I thought
we had the job. I drove by that night and I was sure I saw
Ken's car there."
"What night was that, son?" Dade asked softly.
"Night of the storm."
"Tuesday?"
'Tor a fact."
—
"And Ken that's your friend on this here card, is that
right?"
"That's Ken."
"Was Ken working there?"
"That's what I thought, so I started to pull hi — see we
all work together, and I thought I'd help him out. But then
I saw that it wasn't Ken's car. It was a blue Mustang fast-
back, just like Ken's,all right, but Ken's has a white in-

This one was dark. Besides, Ken's is in better shape.

terior.
So I saw it wasn't Ken and I just drove off. After, I heard
what happened, so I figured there wasn't going to be any
job, no way."
"You happen to remember what time this was, Pete?"
"Right after I got off work. I was driving home. Let's
see, I get off here at nine. The Welles place is right down
the road."
"About ten minutes, wouldn't you say?"
 Murder Mystery 31
"Yeah." The boy put his head to one side and looked at
Dade. "How come you're asking?"
"Just curious."
"You know the lady?"
"I knew her."
"I'm sorry, mister."
"Thank you."
*The way we look at it, there is no death."

"Well, I'm glad the question has been settled after so

many years. Tell me, sonny, what was the job you were
going to do for Mrs. Welles?"
"Patching a leaky roof."
"What were you going to do about the dogs?"
"Let me clue you in about them dogs." Dade looked at
him sharply. Agrin, slower this time. "They got these big
attack dogs. They're funny. You know, I heard a story
once about this guy who had to go back to somebody's of-
fice late at night to get some papers. They had an attack
dog. The guy gets inside and the dog, he just looks at him,
sitting down, wagging his tail. Well, the guy gets the pa-
pers and starts to leave and the dog goes ape. The poor
guy spent the whole night trapped in the comer with this
big dog nailing him down, growling at him. See, the dog
had been trained to let burglars in but not out. Well, he
wasn't a burglar but you see what I mean. Anyway, these
Welles dogs are like that, but in reverse. Once you're in-
side, you're all right. The maid, she took us inside and
then we went out the side door and those dogs, they were
pussycats."
Dade gave him another thanking him. "You going
bill,

to be at these numbers you gave me on this here card?"

"I guess."
Ellen went into the bathroom to freshen up. Pete started
to leave.Dade stopped him.
"I may be
asking more questions about this lady's death.
If I come looking for you, I better find you. You under-
stand me?"
"I told you everything. For a fact."
"I still may have more questions."

"I don't want to get involved, mister, okay?"

32 Murder Mystery
"You talk to me or you might end up talking to the
sheriff,understand?"
"Yes, sir." Pete left
Ellen came out of the bathroom. "HI start lunch."
"I ordered lunch."
"I cancelled it Besides, I'm sure the fish I brought is
fresher." She went behind the bar of the kitchen and be-
gan cooking.
"Better do some more shopping. I got a feeling well be
staying a day or two longer."
Ellen looked at him, surprised. "Is something wrong?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
know." There was a knock at the door. Dade
*1 don't
opened and found Pete standing there.
it

"Okay if I come in?" Dade opened the door wider and

Pete entered. He rubbed his palms on his trousers and
looked at the floor. "I just wanted to tell you this. A while
— —
back this is a few years ago I was with some guys back
East when they held up a liquor store. Nobody got hurt
but we all got busted. I was a minor. They gave me six
months' detention. I don't know about that dead lady and
Ken, I'm sure he don't, neither, and I hope you believe
me."
Dade walked up and down for a few moments. Then he
said, "The rabbis tell us that if a strange woman arrives
from a foreign country and says she is divorced, we must
believe her since she would have no reason to lie. Do you
understand that?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know who the rabbis are?"
"Jew folks, right?"
Dade opened his mouth and then shut it again. "Thank
you."
"It's all right," Pete said.
"Ill seeyou tomorrow."
'That's what I wanted to talk to you about I won't be
here tomorrow."
"Ihope there's not another liquor store in your sights."
"Pardon me?"
"Why won't you be here, son?*'
 " "

Murder Mystery 33
"I got laid off."
"I see."
"You got my card. Anything you want to ask me, just
call up." He went to the door. "So long, sir." The boy left.
Rummaging in his pockets, Dade found his small
leather-covered notebook and his gold pencil and made a
note to himself, lip-reading the words as he wrote them,
allowing Ellen to sit him down at his place. He put the card
Pete had given him in the notebook, put away the pencil,
stuffed the book back into his pocket and then sat staring
into space.
Ellen said, serving him lunch, "How was this morning?
I suppose it was awful. How could it have been anything

else?"
"It wasn't too bad."
"Did you talk to Rachel?"
"No. She wasn't at the funeral. And I haven't heard
from her, either. When I think about how she sounded on
the phone —
telling me she was afraid and had to see me
—
and to wait for her call
Ellen said, "Are you telling me Miriam could have been
murdered?"
"Any death could be murder. Ever think about that?"
"Well, this just sounds to me like adolescent imagina-
tion."
"I stopped by the sheriff's to find out just what hap-
pened to Miriam."
"My dear brave detective, did you learn anything?"
When he told her what he had found out from the sheriff,
something in his expression bothered her.
"What is going on? You act as if —
"Jensen wants me out of here." She stared at him in dis-
belief. "Fact He sent Ballinger here to make sure I got
—
Miriam's papers right away translation: to speed up my
departure." He glanced at his watch impatiently. "I've
waited long enough." He snatched up the phone and di-
aled a number.
The number rang twice. Then a voice answered, saying,
"Miriam Welles speaking." Dade reacted in shock, then he
caught himself. He was listening to a recorded message.
He had forgotten and called her private number. There
 "

34 Murder Mystery
was a beeping signal. Ellen saw the look on his face and
said, "Dade?" He put down the phone quickly, his hand
trembling. He went to the bureau, picked up his wallet,
took out an address book and checked the number of the
Welles house. At that moment the phone rang. He picked
it up.
"Yes?"
"Dade?" It was Rachel's voice now. She spoke softly.
is that you?"
"Rachel, honey,
"Dade, can you come to where I am? Ill give you the
address. Now, it sounds complicated but it isn't really
—
She gave him directions.
"Ill be right there." He put down the phone. Ellen
helped him into his coat
She said, "I'm curious about something. Ask Rachel if
Miriam tried to stop Jensen."
"Stop him?"
"From going out. It was the worst storm of the year,
wasn't it? I wouldn't have let you go out. Not without a
very good excuse."
"Maybe he had one."
"Find out."
"Jess Watmough still own this place?" Dade asked.
"I think so. We haven't seen him in years."
"Well, call the manager and send Jess our regards. Then
mention how much we appreciate Pete." He kissed her
and hurried away.
He drove south on the highway through what, in his
childhood, had been a private rancho, all twenty-two miles
of it fenced off from the rest of the world, with cowboys
riding shotgun along its boundaries, while the old lady
who owned the whole thing, the Queen of the Malibu,
builther castle in the center, filling it with wall-to-wall
Persian carpets made of tile and fought a lifetime battle
for her privacy, galloping side-saddle with her guards
around her realm. Now the highway through the legendary
rancho was public, and Dade drove across the old Spanish
land grant, legally called Rancho Topanga Malibu Sequit,
on his way to visit the girl the newspapers called "the Bil-
lion Dollar Baby."
 VI
He drove along the water's edge past the dilapidated
amusement park on the Santa Monica pier and then down
the narrow thoroughfare of Main Street into Venice. On
his left, the long-abandoned canals were ditches overgrown
with weeds. Above them stood shingled weatherbeaten
Victorian houses looking out on the wide blank expanse of
the sea. The air was different from that of Malibu. It was
pungent with iodine because the beaches here were shallow
and broad and strewn with kelp thrown up by the high tide.
Following the directions Rachel had given him, Dade
turned left and went up Rose to a ramshackle three-story
Victorian mansion with turrets and a widow's walk, the
outside covered with shingles cut in the form of fish scales.
It had been turned into apartments. As Dade parked, he
could see a sign reading no vacancy. He got out and
walked toward the front door. There were nameplates and
buzzers for almost a dozen tenants. Dade found welles,
307 and rang the bell. He had to ring it twice before a
scratchy voice came through the grating over a speaker,
asking, "Who is it?"
Dade me, honey. Dade."
said, "It's
A buzzer made a prolonged vibrating sound. Dade
pushed open the heavy front door and went into a lino-
leum-covered lobby and up a broad flight of stairs to the
second floor, where a gallery ran around the stairwell. An-
other stairway doubled back and up to the third floor.
There, an arrow above the numbers of four more apart-
ments pointed to a corridor at the back, leading to what
were once servants' quarters. Dade walked down a narrow
hall. At the far end, he heard a sound of bolts being

35
36 Murder Mystery
drawn. A chain rattled. A
door opened, slightly at first,
then wider. Rachel stood there. She was barefoot and
dressed only in faded jeans and a fisherman's sweater. Her
hair was even redder than he had remembered it, a tousled
mop.
She looked at him without expression, twisting her thin
hands together, the blue eyes dark, almost hard. Then she
threw her arms around him, burying her face in his coat
and murmuring his name over and over. He patted her
head. She lifted her freckled face and smiled at him and he
found himself remembering the freckled faces of his child-
hood and wondering why one didn't seem to see them so
much anymore. She took his hand and led him into her
room.
"Well," she said. He looked around. The room was
small, containing a brass bed with a chenille bedspread, a
dropleaf desk with a Windsor chair and a bridge lamp and
a shabby wing chair. On the back of the -door hung a
black dress, freshly pressed. It was a corner room with
small casement windows looking down on the intersection
below. Rachel rubbed her palms on her jeans and gestured
at one window. "If you lean out of it, you can see the
ocean. It's very nice."
"Yes. Yes, very nice."
"Please sit down." She indicated the wing chair and sat
opposite him, elbows on her knees. On the desk, he could
see a photograph in a little cardboard frame. It showed
Rachel on the beach next to a young man with his arm
around her. He had the build of a weightlifter and the
face of Baryshnikov. He was dressed in a wet suit and his
other arm held a surfboard. Seeing Dade looking at it, she
handed it to him, saying, "His name is Nick Levin. He's
beautiful, isn't he? He's Russian. That is, he's from Russia.
He lives here now."
"What does he dor
"He makes money. Lots of money."
"HowT
"In commodities. We're going to be married, Dade."
"My felicitations, Rachel." He returned the photograph.
"Thank you." She put the photograph on her desk care-
fully, hesitated and then took another one out of a drawer
 Murder Mystery 37
and gave it to him. It was a picture of Miriam and Rachel
on the pool deck of the Welles house, both of them in
bathing suits, both shading their eyes in the bright sun.
Rachel was grinning. They had their arms around each
other's waist. "That was the last picture taken of her," she
said. "It was just a few weeks ago."
Dade nodded, handing the picture back. Rachel stood it
up next to the photograph of herself and Nick. He looked
around the room, seeing a hot plate with a kettle on it.
It was sitting on an old sea chest, and there were cups and
spoons beside it. Above on a shelf, was a little store of
provisions. To the right was a small refrigerator. Following
his glance, Rachel smiled and gestured, saying, "My kit-
chen." She pointed in the other direction. "Bathroom down
the hall. Would you like tea or anything?"
"Not just now, thanks, honey."
"Well . ."
.

There was a strained silence. Rachel looked away. The

smile remained on her lips as if she had forgotten about it
Dade said, "I looked for you today at the funeral."
—
"I I didn't go," she said unnecessarily.
"How's that, honey?" She answered him with an exag-
gerated shrug, still not meeting his eyes. "How come you
didn't go to the funeral, Rachel?"
"He asked me not to." She looked at him now with a
bright blank smile and said, "I was upset, very upset, and
finally he said if I didn't stop it, he'd be upset and so
would I please either control myself or stay home? so I
didn't go." Then she
burst into tears, crying in the voice of
a lost child and rocking back and forth in her chair. She
turned away from him, put her head down in her arms on
up to sobbing.
the desk and gave herself
After a moment, Dade hoisted himself out of his chair
and went to her, patting her thin shoulders and murmur-
ing words of reassurance. She lifted her head, let out a
shuddering sigh and, grabbing for a Kleenex, wiped her
eyes quickly and blew her nose.
"Maybe he was right," she said finally. Tm
sorry,
Dade."
He nodded, sitting down again and lacing his fingers,
38 Murder Mystery
squinting at her through half-closed lids. Then he said,
"There a school around here somewheres?"
"A school?"
"I thought maybe you moved in here to be close to
campus.**
Tm taking a year off.** He could hardly blame her. She
had graduated from high school at fifteen and had already
completed three years at Vassar. "I was going to go
abroad and then I met Nick. It's because of him.**
"Nick?**
She noddedat the photograph. "He asked me to marry
him. My
father doesn't approve of him. This has gone on
for months now. It got so he wouldn't even let Nick in the
house. I said I was eighteen and I was certainly going to
go on seeing him and Dad said, Tine, if that's the way
things are, you can move out and see him on your own.'
So—well, I did."
"What did Miriam say?"
"Oh, she tried to make me wait. She kept saying Dad
would change his mind and to give him a chance. Well,
I'd given him a chance for about three months and things
just got worse and I finally decided this was all I could
do.**
"How are you Irving, Rachel?**
"I got a job as a waitress. It's just one of those counters,

so I don't get tips, but after I get experience I can do bet-

ter."
"You mean he's not helping you?**
"Dad? Oh, no. He made things very clear. He told me
if I moved out, that was that**
"Hard for me to believe that Miriam went along with
that"
"Oh, Miriam didn't! She was terribly upset and kept try-
—
ing to sneak me money, but if s his money" there was an
—
edge to her voice now "it's his money and I don't want
it. Since it means so much to him, he can keep it Every

lastcent"
your money, Rachel.**
"It's
"When he dies. Not before. You know that, Dade.
Look, it's all right I don't need anything. Nick tried to
help me, too. After all, Nick makes about ten thousand
 "

Murder Mystery 39

dollars a month, for God's sake, but I wouldn't let him. I

told him he could support me after we're married. It's just

the way I am."

"I respect you for it.**
"Thank you, Dade."
He got up from his chair again, went to the open win-
dow and leaned on the sill, looking out to his left. Above
the rooftops, he could just catch the shimmer of the sea.
He stared out at the view for some moments, then grunted
and ducked his head back into the room. Rachel had got-
ten up and poured herself a diet drink from the refrigera-
tor. She made a sign offering him one, but he shook his
head. She sipped it, watching him over the rim of her
glass.
"I've been waiting to hear from you," he said.
"I'm sorry. I waited to call because I thought you'd
gone to the house with everyone else."
"Something's really bothering you, isn't it?" She nodded
dumbly. "Why don't you just take a deep breath and tell
me about it?"
want to make trouble
"I don't —
"Why don't you let me worry about that?"
She nodded again and then looked up and said, "Shall I
just plunge right in?"
"Go ahead."
She began pacing up and down the far side of her little
room in her bare feet, measuring her steps, talking slowly
at first, then more rapidly. "Yesterday, Dad got the body
released from the coroner's. I was at the house going
through her things when the funeral director called, asking
for clothes. It was stupid because nobody thought of it
Dad had gone by and chosen a casket and then they were
stuck because the body was supposed to be ready by yes-
terday afternoon and they didn't have any clothes for her.
Dad came home just then and I said I wanted her to
have the Persian robe. Did you remember it, Dade, when
you saw it today?"
"Yes, indeed."
"It was her favorite thing in the world. You know, it's
two hundred years old and absolute perfection. It's a work
of art She's only worn it half a dozen times. She kept it in
 —

40 Murder Mystery
her cedar closet in a special camphor bag she had made
for it. Well, I went to get it and it wasn't there. I mean, it
wasn't there."
"Uh-huh." He watched her through lidded eyes, taking
out an old briar pipe and filling it from a chamois pouch.
"Well, at first I thought Dad had had the same idea
but when I went to him, I don't think he even knew what
I was talking about. He was impatient with me. He said
everybody would be kept waiting and to choose something
else and get it over to them. Well, I just wouldn't. Miriam
adored that. Of course, it belongs in a museum, not a
grave, but I
— " Her lips quivered.
"Now, just take it easy."
"I made them wait I searched the whole house. It just
couldn't be gone. At one point I thought maybe it had
—
been stolen it is worth thousands, of course, but nobody
would break into the house to steal a thing like that, not
with Dad's paintings all over the walls. My father got
mad. He followed me from room to room while I searched
and finally said he'd just choose something himself
maybe that dress she'd worn in Santa Barbara. He went
slamming out to look for it. She liked it, so I gave up. I
was going to get that. I remembered it was in that suitcase
she'd left in the car. We found it there the night she was
killed. It's the one they had taken to Santa Barbara with
them for the weekend and she just hadn't bothered to have
it brought in. The night she was killed, I brought it in my-

self and put it in her room. I was going to unpack it but I

couldn't bring myself to open it. She used to put sprigs of
lavender from the garden in with her clothes and I
—
thought, if I see that all wrapped up in tissue paper well,
open it, that's all.
I just couldn't
"But now, it had to be opened because that's where the
dress Dad wanted was. I unlocked the suitcase —
it's one of

those combination locks and I knew the combination, it

—
was her birth date and when I opened it, there was the
Persian robe in its camphor bag!"
"She'd taken it with her to Santa Barbara, is that it?"
"Dade, she would never have taken it there. You think
she'd crush something like that in a suitcase for a weekend
at San Ysidro? She would have looked like a fool, wearing
 I

Murder Mystery 41

that at a ranch! It's just impossible, you have to believe

me."
"I see." But he didn't He was trying to think through
the implications of what she was saying. She put a slim
hand on the sleeve of his tweed jacket and looked at him
with imploring eyes, as if she were afraid he wouldn't be-
lieve her.
"There's more. Wait I didn't stop and think. I was late.
I called out to Dad that I'd found it and then took it into
town for her myself and left it at the funeral parlor. They
said they were just doing her hair and face and if I came
back in an hour, she would be ready. It sounds like a doll,
doesn't it? It's horrible, Dade. I don't know why we do it,
I really don't.
"I went out and had coffee. I couldn't think. My hands
were shaking and I was afraid I was going to faint. Then I
went back and Dad was there, they had Miriam ready —
could see just her hair from the back of the room but I
couldn't bring myself to go up and look —
and then people
began to arrive and I stayed near the door the whole eve-
ning, never once going up to see her until they'd all gone.
Then I went back to the house. I went into Miriam's
room. I could face the suitcase then. I was restless, I
wanted something to do. I thought, I'll unpack for her. So
I started to. Dade, you just won't believe what I found. In
that suitcase was every bit of jewelry she had in the
—
house not the stuff in the safe-deposit box but the things
—
she wore all the time and cared about Japanese combs
covered with bright blue velvety designs, all made of tiny
birds' feathers, a leather-bound journal she kept when she
was a student years ago in Florence, photographs, letters
from you, from me, well, I don't have to go on. She must
have been packing for days! You see what I'm saying. She
was running away!" She broke off, breathless.
The eyes Dade fixed on her were points of light
"Where is that suitcase?"
"In her study. I saw what was in it and I just left it
the way it was. Do you want to see it?"
"Later, I want to see it. What happened then? You tell
your father?"
"Not right away. I just kept trying to make sense out of
 "

42 Murder Mystery
everything and I couldn't. couldn't have been some sick
It
practical joke. The was locked and I don't know
suitcase
whether anybody but me knows the combination. I don't
think Dad knows or even remembers but even if he did,
why on earth would he do something so crazy? No,
Miriam did it There isn't a doubt in the world."
"You say you went in and told this to your father?"
"Yes. At first I was in a state of shock. I think I must
have waited about half an hour. I went through all her
things. You see, all the things she took were from different
places. I knew where she kept them. No, it was Miriam.
Nobody else put those things in that suitcase. It was that
—
she was running away as if she were afraid! But when I
said maybe it wasn't an accident, he got just furious and
told me I was crazy and to shut up!"
"Wasn't it obvious to him that she was leaving?"
"He says she's dead and that asking questions won't
bring her back. You know why he's afraid? He's sixty-
seven. He's proud. He's possessive. He knows if there's any
investigation, people will find out she was leaving him and
he can't stand that! He'd rather bury the truth than have
that known!" Her voice had grown louder and louder.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to
think. Then he
said, "Miriam say anything to you that last
night that might give us a clue? Sheriffs report says you
were there earlier."
She shook her head. "We just talked about how things
—
were going mostly about Nick and me."
'That's why you went there? Just to see her?"
"Oh no. It was Dad. He had called and said he wanted
to see me, that it was important. Well, I — I went over to
the house around five. Dad wasn't due back until later but
Miriam was sick and I wanted to look in on her. She
asked me to do a few things for her and I did. I turned up
the monitor on the answering machine so she wouldn't
have to answer the phone if she didn't want to. And I
made her some tea with honey in it. I stayed with her until
about six, when Dad got home. Then, a little while later—
"How did she seem?"
"Oh, she was sick. She was coughing and I kept telling
her not to use her voice. She told me the Arco man had
 Murder Mystery 43
called about an hour before and that her car was ready
and asked me if Fd drive down with Dad when he went
out and pick it up for her. I said yes and that I'd just
leave it in the garage and not wake her."
"I mean, how were her spirits?"
"Oh, well, you know what she was like always gay, —
full of life."
"So, you didn't have the impression that anything was
bothering her?"
"Oh, heavens, no! As a matter of fact— well, you know
how you feel when you've got the flu. I expected to find
her like that. But she was just glowing. She kept talking
about Nick and me—
she was crazy about him, she didn't
—
share Dad's feeling at all and what she wanted was for
me to be patient, because she was sure Dad would come
around, and I promised I would be."
"In other words, if anything was worrying Miriam oh, —
say, if she'd had a fight with your father or if she was in
some kind of trouble she didn't mention, you saw no sign
of it?"
"No. That's why none of this makes any sense."
"I see." Dade put his fingers together and gazed into
them, as if they contained an invisible crystal ball. He
said, "You say your father came home around six?"
"Yes."
"What happened then?"
—
"Oh, he came in for a moment just put his head in the
door because he didn't want her germs to ask how she—
was and then went into his own room to shower and
change. About half an hour later he called through the
open door, saying he'd be in the library watching the
news. Miriam said I ought to go down and sit with him, so
I did."
"Did you talk?"
"No. He had a drink. I think I had a Dr. Pepper. We
watched the news for almost an hour and then it was time
for dinner."
"Miriam join you?"
"Dad asked Rosarita to tell her dinner was ready. Ros-
arita said she was sleeping. Just then, the house phone
rang. It only rang once, so that meant Miriam had an-
44 Murder Mystery
swered Dad was annoyed and said, 'She is not sleeping!
it.

Go her dinner is served.' So Rosarita had to go and

tell

call her and apparently Miriam had been sleeping and said
she didn't want anyone to wake her again, so that ended
that."
"I see."
"Well, I was having dinner with Nick. I was meeting
him at nine."
"Did your father know that?"
"No. I had learned never to mention Nick around him.
To avoid scenes. He doesn't get into arguments. He thinks
they're vulgar. He just says something cutting and walks
out of the room. Anyway, I sat with Dad and had a little
to eat and it was arranged that we would go out together
and get Miriam's car around eight-thirty. Well, anyway,
we just sat there, with me wondering why he had wanted
to see me and knowing
must be something serious be-
it

cause he wasn't talking about it over dinner." Dade

nodded. Rachel looked away, smoothing the wrinkles in
her jeans. After a moment or two, she went on: "When
dinner was over, he asked me to excuse him for a few
minutes and went into the library. I went into the game
room and looked out the windows and watched the storm.
In a few minutes, he called me on the intercom and asked
me to come in and see him.
"I went in. He was standing there with his hands behind
his back. He'd had detectives on Nick for months. I
thought maybe this was going to be about that but he
didn't mention them. He looked as if he could barely con-
trol himself. His face was absolutely white. I thought
something terrible must have happened. But all he said
was that he wanted me
to move back into the house and
to promise him would never see Nick again. Then
that I
he went over and sat down behind his desk and that was
when I saw there was a gun there."
"There was a gun?" Dade looked at her sharply.
"Yes. Lying on the desk in front of him. You know,
he's a crack shot. Well, of course you know. You must.
He said that if I loved Nick, I would want to protect him.
I knew what he was talking about, of course. I was terri-
bly frightened."
 "

Murder Mystery 45

"When you say you knew what he was talking about,

you mean that he was actually making a threat against
Nick."
"Yes."
"Did he ever mention the gun?"
"No."
"Did he ever pick it up?"
"No."
—
"Did he toy with it with a pencil, for example, or in
any way draw your attention to it?"
"No. Anyway, that was all. He left the room. I was
scared to death. I called Nick at his apartment and told
him what had happened. Then I said, 'You get out of
there right now.' Well, Nick acted like a damn fool. He
said he wanted to come over and have it out with Dad
right then and there and that was just more than I could
stand. I said, 'Please, please don't do that. Just meet me at
nine o'clock as we planned.' I could hear Dad coming
down the hall, so I didn't dare talk any longer."
"Your father knows where Nick's apartment is?"
"Oh, yes. It's just five minutes down the Old Road, a
little beach shack. He moved in there so we'd be near each

other. Anyway, I wanted to talk to Miriam but that meant

waking her up when she was sick and I couldn't do it. Just
then, Dad came in, looking around for his raincoat. He
said it was time to go and I said, '111 just run up for a
second and see if Miriam is all right while you get the car,
and then 111 meet you out front'
"But you said you drove."
"Well, Ballinger called him just then and when I came
back downstairs, Dad was still on the phone so I went in
to the game room and turned on the floods so I could look
out the window and see the driveway. There was mud ev-
erywhere. I wasn't even sure Dad could get his car out. I
went in to Dad and told him. I said mine was in front and
if he wanted, we could take that and he could drive

Miriam's into town. It was either that or risk getting his

—
stuck in the mud. Well, he just loves that car you know,
it's got a bar and a television set in the back— so he de-
cided he'd better play it safe and take Miriam's. Am I tell-
ing you what you want to know?"
46 Murder Mystery
"Just keep talking, honey."
"Well —we left then and I drove him down to the Arco
station."
"Whatis that, about ten minutes from here?"

"About. So then, well, I let him out and waited to make

sure he didn't have any trouble starting Miriam's car, and
then I made a U-turn on the highway you know, the —
—
Arco station is on the other side and drove on in to meet
Nick. When I got to the restaurant and I didn't see him I
was in an absolute panic. He drove up just then. I can't
tell you how relieved I was. He got me calmed down and
we spent the whole evening trying to decide what to do.
"That's why I called Miriam. I had to talk to her and
tell her what happened. And when I didn't get any answer,

I thought, She's gotten worse, and I drove back because I

had to see her. And then when I got there " She broke —
off, shocked at the memory.
He asked, "Honey, was Miriam upset at the idea of
your father going out?"
"No. Not in the least." His question puzzled her.
"She didn't try to stop him?"
"I don't understand."
"From going out in that storm."
She considered this, a line furrowing between her brows.
Then, "No."
"Did you?"
"You don't try tostop Dad from anything.**
4<
Why did he have to go into town?"
"/ don't know." She was impatient. "To go to his of-
fice."
"Why at night?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. Why don't you ask him?
What I want to know is, where was Miriam going?"
"Where do you think, Rachel? You got any idea?"
"She wouldn't have left without telling me. I mean, she
just wouldn't have! You must believe me. It's impossible!
—
Not even a note nothing! Something happened after we
left —
I think something scared her to death. Dade, what
should I do?"
"Rachel," he said, "you know where her papers are?"
"In a box in her study."
 Murder Mystery 47

"Iwonder if I can pick them up today?" \

She dialed a number and got no answer. "Gone," she
said. "Party's over. Dad generally goes to the club Friday
afternoons to get a rubdown." She pulled a long face and
croaked in a deep voice, imitating her father, "If anyone
calls, 111 be at the club." Then her face brightened and she
said, "Why don't I just meet you at the house and give
them to you?"
"When?"
"Let's go right now." She picked up her keys and wallet
and walked to the door, opening it to let him out

"You don't need shoes?"

"In Malibu?" She grinned, shaking her head as she
locked up behind them and then led him downstairs. In
separate cars, they drove back to Malibu, Rachel ahead of
him, speeding out of sight
 vn
The Welles house was not visible from the highway, and
there was no address. Dade drove by it, missing it alto-
gether and only realizing that he had when he found him-
selfheaded up toward the Malibu Inn. He pulled into the
and sat there for a minute or two before he
left-turn lane
could make a U-turn and head back south again. It took
him another few minutes to find the driveway.
Turning into it, he curved around through a screen of
eucalyptus and then, ahead of him at the end of a dirt
road, he saw the gates. They were wrought iron, not the
cheap imitation shown in catalogues and referred to as
"wrought-iron style." The automatic lock was also the real
thing, heavy duty, and a sign on the top of a stone pillar
said that the land on which he now stood was private
property, that it was patrolled, that trespassers would be
prosecuted (the particular ordinance which applied here
was cited by number) and that the house and grounds
were protected by the Westinghouse burglar-alarm system.
Dade climbed out of his car and walked around to have
a look at things. There was very little to see. The dense
row of eucalyptus, topped so that the foliage hung down
almost to the ground, screened him from the highway.
Myoporum, oak and pine grew in the stretch of land be-
tween the highway and the fence, so that even the sea
wasn't visible from here. Inside the fence, a neat row of fi-
cus towering up twenty feet effectively blocked the view.
The air was scented with rosemary. Dade walked toward
the gates and rang a bell with a microphone-speaker set in
the pillar above it
48
 Murder Mystery 49
Suddenly two Dobermans with nail-studded collars
charged straight at him, eyes glaring. They began to bark
furiously. Asign on the fence read warning! attack
dogs! Over the intercom, Dade could hear Rachel's voice
answering his ring. She was saying something but he
couldn't hear because the dogs kept leaping toward him
and barking. Finally, Rachel's voice said, "Dade! Your
car! Please get back in your car!"
He climbed into the driver's seat The voice called out
over the intercom, "Are you back in your car?" He tooted
his horn. The gates then swung open automatically and he
drove in. The gates closed behind him and the dogs, sud-
denly quiet, trotted off as if they had no interest in him at
all and never had had.
The road was gravel, wide enough for two cars and
marked by railroad ties set on end deep in the ground,
with small green-hooded garden lights mounted beside
them every ten feet or so. He drove past a tennis court
with the fencing screened against the wind and sun with
green canvas and then, finally, the house was visible, a big
California beach house looking like a picture put of Sun-
set, all huge dark beams and walls of glass, with a big cir-
cular drive made of upended railroad ties close-set,
something like ajuga growing between them and a giant
California live oak welled in the center.
Dade climbed out of his car and went toward the en-
trance. Itwas shaded, set at the back of a Japanese garden
with mounds of azaleas clipped close like boxwood, and
from somewhere just out of sight, the sound of falling
water. Rachel came out.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I would have left the gates open
but the dogs would run out." The Dobermans trotted up
and nuzzled her. She patted them.
Dade looked at them. "Safe, are they?"
"Here, yes."
"Who trained them to do thatf"
"Nobody. It's their own idea."
•They look mean."
"I think they are. Oh, it's so stupid to have attack
dogs." She looked around quickly toward the half-open
door, as if afraid of being overheard. "I mean, friends of
50 Murder Mystery
—
ours had one and a boy climbed the fence he was just a
kid, maybe nine or ten —
and it was just terrible, what hap-
pened. People say dogs know. They don't know. I hate
dogs like that. I wouldn't have one. It's all Dad and his
paintings. Well, come on in!"
She led him into a wide gallery walled with white stucco
and floored with Mexican tiles. Dade looked up at the
gilt-framed Renaissance paintings covering the walls.
"I hear he's bought himself a Botticelli."
"He has to keep it locked up. He can't take it out unless
the Pinkerton man is here or else they cancel the insur-
ance."
He frowned. "Something like that gets too big for one
man to own. It's like owning a Bach partita or a Shake-
speare sonnet. I guess I just don't understand it, honey.
Not much room left. What does he do when he buys new
ones, sell off a few?"
**Dad a painting? Oh, never. You know how he
sell
started. At he just bought paintings as investments.
first

Then, when Mother fell ill, Miriam went to work for him.
Miriam trained his eye. She taught him practically every-
thing he knows. Well, something funny happened. She
found a Michelangelo drawing he really wanted. It was
terribly overpriced, but the man who owned it wanted two
small paintings of my father's and Miriam thought it
would be a perfect trade. They weren't important, they
weren't even that good, but they both happened to be
mentioned by Vasari. Well, Dad just hit the roof. He
—
wouldn't sell, he wouldn't trade something had happened
to him and he just couldn't let go of anything. It got to
him, do you know?
"It's hard to understand if you're not like that, just the
way gambling doesn't make sense to people who don't
gamble. Anyway, that's what happened. He keeps buying
paintings, saying they're a hedge against inflation, but it's
not that. This collection is him. If s what he hopes to be
remembered for. He's going to leave it to a museum on
the condition that they keep it intact and call it the Jensen
Welles Collection. What he really wants is for the whole
hundred million to be spent adding to it. He can't ever
touch the money, of course, but if I went into it with him,
 Murder Mystery 51

then he feels I would carry on after he's gone. That's his

dream. And that's why Nick is a threat. He doesn't want
someone else to get his hands on my money. At least,
that's what I think."
They walked past the open door of the library. Inside,
Dade could see a portrait of Miriam hung at the end of
the room, the lips about to break into the familiar smile,
the oval face framed in the dark lustrous hair.
Dade said, "That one I suppose he'll never part with."
Suddenly serious, Rachel said, "I wish it were mine so I
could give it to you."
"I'll take the thought for the deed."

A handsome Mexican woman with a sullen face came

out of the library, carrying a vacuum cleaner.
"This is Rosarita," Rachel said. She introduced them in
rapid soft Spanish.
Rosarita looked tired. There were dark circles under her
eyes. "Will you be needing me?" she asked. "The senor
said I could go to my family."
"No, it's all right."
"Thank you, senorita.*9
"I want you to have something of hers. Would you like
the silver earrings from Taxco?"
"Thank you, senorita,** Rosarita plugged in her
machine, vacuuming her way down the hall, cleaning up
after the guests.
Rachel said. "You have just met the staff."
"One maid? A house this size?"
"Servants steal. That's what Dad says. We
have a clean-
ing service. Miriam used to have to stand there and watch
them when they went through the house."
She led him up a curving stairway to the second floor.
They turned left down an open hall from which one could
look into the foyer. At the far end, Rachel unlocked a
heavy carved door with a rounded top set in an embrasure
and led him into a cluttered study. There was a large part-
ners' desk in the middle with a bookcase behind it filled
with recent books, all of them still in their dust jackets.
Clothes were piled on chairs. The walls were covered with
paintings.The tall casement windows were all shuttered
and curtained. Rachel went to the windows behind the
52 Murder Mystery
desk, yanked open a pair of velvet drapes on gold rings,
unlatched the windows and then reached out and threw
open the green shutters. The bright sun sparkled on the
dark-blue sea below them.
Rachel went over to a suitcase on the floor. Stooping
down, she worked the combination lock and lifted the lid.
Dade squatted on the floor beside her. Swiftly, he went
through everything in the suitcase. Apart from a few
travel clothes, it contained only the objects Rachel had
described. Rising, he scratched his head. Scrambling to her
feet, Rachel said, "I'll get her papers." She went to a
closet and tugged at a medium-size cardboard box. In it
were check stubs, bank books, a ledger-size checkbook and
stacks of bills and canceled checks, all bound with rubber
bands. Dade took the box from her.
"Thanks. That'll do nicely."
She stepped back, tripping over a cord. He grabbed at
her, steadying her.
"Oh! Sorry]" she said.
Dade looked down at the cord. It was plugged into a
wall socket and ran across the floor and carpet, then up
the leg of the desk and into a drawer.
Rachel said, "Oh, that's just the answering machine."
Dade put down the box slowly, balancing it on the clut-
tered desk. "May
have a look-see?" Then, when Rachel
I
nodded, puzzled, Dade pulled open the drawer, lifted out
the machine and experimentally turned the switch from
Playback to Announcement and pressed the Test button.
After a moment, they heard, "Miriam Welles speaking.
I'm sorry, but I'm not able to take your call at this time.
If you'll leave your name and number after the signal, I'll
get back to you as soon as I can."
Her voice filled the room as if it were her scent. For a
moment, she seemed to be there with them. Dade saw sud-
denly that Rachel had turned terribly pale. He took her
arm.
"Here, you sit down."
"I'm all right."
"Just sit down for a minute, honey, like I tell you." He
helped her into Miriam's desk chair.
 "

Murder Mystery 53

She said, half whispering, "It's just hearing her voice

again."
"I know."
"I'm all right now."
Dade turned the switch back to Playback, pushed the
Rewind button for a second or two and then pressed the
On button again. In a moment, they heard Ellen's voice
faintly in the background calling out, "Dade?" and then
the sound of the phone being hung up.
'That was me," Dade explained. "I called this after-
noon. Mind if I play a bit more?"
"No, please. Go ahead."
Dade backed the tape up some distance, then set the
switch on Playback and turned the machine on again.
They heard a woman's voice with a French accent say,
"Miriam? Are you there?" There was a click as Miriam's
phone was picked up.
Then they heard Miriam's voice saying, "I'm here! Net-
tie?" Then, after a banging sound, Miriam's voice said,
"Nettie? Nettie, don't hang up! The drawer's stuck and I
can't shut the damn machine off! Nettie, can you hear
me?"
"I'm here, Miriam. Listen, that stupid man called
again
—
"On Sunday? Nettie, I told him it would be ready to-
morrow. What is the matter with him?"
"Not that stupid man. The other one. Mr. Schiller."
"Oh, him! Well, if it's about the Wyeth, I don't want it.
Schiller is a damn fool. In the first place, he didn't even
know there are five Wyeths and when I tried to tell him
that, he thought I meant paintings. Just get rid of him but
make up some excuse because, for all I know, he could
show up with something good one of these days."
"If we just took it on consignment, somebody would
probably come along. After all, Wyeth is a big name."
"So is Rouault, but not if his first name is Sam. No, if
we take it on consignment, he'd expect us to hang it and,
on the whole, I'd rather hang myself. But right now, all I
—
can think about is tomorrow. Listen " The recording
ended. The tape advanced to the next call.
Dade shut off the machine, looked at Rachel and asked
54 Murder Mystery
her, "Sunday. Hm. What was supposed to happen on
Monday?"
know. But Nettie would.'*
"I don't
Dade grunted, turning on the machine again. There
were several messages in a row, all of them social, incon-
sequential. In some cases there was nothing on the tape
but a beeping sound, indicating that the caller had hung
up in the middle of hearing Miriam's recorded message,
not wishing to leave word.
Then there was a man's voice on the tape. He identified
himself as Ed at the-Arco station, said Mrs. Welles' car
was ready and would be left parked over by the fence.
Dade pushed the 'Off button. His eyes met Rachel's.
"That's the night she was killed, I mean, that same
day!" Rachel said.
"Let's see. He would have called around four. Let's
have a listen here." Dade On
button again and
pressed the
let the tape run. There was one call with the click of the
receiver at the end of the message cycle. Dade pushed the
Off button, with a perplexed expression.
"What is it?" she said.
"That's a damn peculiar call."
"Why? Somebody called and got the answering machine
and hung up. What's so odd about that?"
"Wrong. Somebody called, waited for her message to
end, waited for the tone and then waited almost forty-five
seconds before hanging up. You can hear the sound of the
person hanging up on that tape, just the way you heard
me. But why wait almost forty-five seconds? That was
somebody waiting for Miriam to pick up that phone. Hm.
Let's hear some more." He pushed the On button again.
Rachel's voice came on the tape, calling out, "Miriam?
Miriam, me. Can you answer the phone? I want to
it's

know how you are. Miriam? Miriam?" There was a pause,

Rachel called Miriam's name a few more times and then
there was a click. After that came the call with Ellen's
voice calling Dade and then the indicator showed the tape
back in the position where they had found it.
Dade said, "End of the line." He shut off the machine.
"This much is clear. She never answered that phone from
the time you last saw her Tuesday night till the time she
 Murder Mystery 55

died." Dade frowned, then pointed to the other phone on

Miriam's desk. "What about that number?"
Rachel shook her head. "Her friends never called her on
the house phone."
"Is it listed?"
"Yes."
"How many phones you got here?"
"Three. These two and Dad's private line, but nobody
ever uses that but Dad."
"Unlisted?"
"Yes. And with no extensions. Just the line in the
study." Dade grunted, straightened up, arching his back,
then walked over to the window and gazed out at the
flashing blue field of the sea. He was silent for a long
time. Rachel said, "What do you think we ought to do?"
"Let me think about it" He
tapped the cardboard box.
"Ill take this along. I want to have a look through it. Ill
take back with me to the inn. Ellen's just arrived, so I
it

think 111 be staying on a day or two. Forget all this. Just

don't talk about it to anybody. Understand, honey?"
"Yes."
Dade picked up the box and started toward the door.
Rachel ran ahead of him, opening it for him. He followed
her down the stairs to the front hall. A
grandfather clock
chimed four. "You might just tell your father I'm sorry I
missed him. How's his health, by the way? I heard they
took him to the hospital."
"Oh, he's fine. When they told him it was just gas he
was almost affronted."
"I guess that left you with a lot to do."
*Tt was just awful. The police had the garage sealed off
and they wouldn't let us in there until the coroner had
made his report, which was yesterday. And on top of that,
the insurance company had guards here all day Wednes-
day and Thursday while they went through the house in-
ventorying everything, so we didn't even have any privacy.
And here I was on the phone calling everybody, telling
them where the funeral would be and what time. I had to
help make the funeral arrangements and since " Her
—
face got very pale, so that even the freckles seemed to
change color. She went on in a half-whisper. "I didn't
56 Murder Mystery
know how much there was to do. But at least I kept busy
and — " A
sob broke from her. Suddenly she cried out,
"She's dead, she's dead! And that son of a bitch is off at
his club getting one of his goddamned rubdowns! All right,
he's an old man, he's all broken up, he's runnin g away,
but Jesus Christ, what about me? Look at this place! Does
this look like a house of mourning to you? It's nothing but
a goddamned art gallery! All he cares about is his god-
damned Botticelli!"
"You made her happy," Dade said.
"Did I?"
"She said so. Many times. Think about that**
She nodded. Then she asked quietly, "How would I get
the investigation reopened?"
"You'd have to give the sheriff new evidence."
"But how am I supposed to get it? Isn't that his job?"
"Not after the investigation is closed."
"What should I do? I can't just leave it like this!"
"Well, you could hire an investigator."
"You mean a detective?"
"Yes."
"I don't have any money."
'That's not somethingwe have to worry about." Dade
walked up and down, pulling at his lower lip. Then he
said, "You want me to find you somebody?"
"Yes. Please."
mink I can do that"
"I
She twisted her fingers together. T
wouldn't even know
how to talk to him. Oh, please help me!"
Dade walked up and down again, examining alterna-
tives, then finally nodding. "Let me explain my legal posi-
tion in this. I do not represent Miriam. A
dead person is
not an entity who can be represented. I am her executor.
It is my job to marshal the assets of her estate. That's why
it's hard for me to represent you."

"I don't understand."

"I drew up the will. You're one of her heirs. There
could be a conflict of interest."
"One of her heirs? That's ridiculous! In the first place,
she didn't have much, and in the second place, she told me
she was leaving everything to charity!"
 Murder Mystery 57

"Well, that's so, that's so. She's just left you a few per-
sonal things to remember her by. The will says they have
only a sentimental value."
"And that's a conflict? Dade!"
"All right, here's what I'll do. I will agree to represent
you, Rachel, and to conduct an investigation into the
death of your stepmother. But with this caveat: Under the
law, it conceivable that a conflict could arise between
is

my interests as attorney for the estate and attorney for

you."
"That's absurd."
"Still, the law requires that I make you aware of that

possibility, and if, in my judgment, such a conflict arises, I

will promptly inform you and withdraw from the case,
urging you to seek other representation. Have I made my-
self clear?"
She threw her arms around him. "I'll do all I can to
help."
They left the house together. He put her in her car.
"Will you be home this evening?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. Then, remembering, she gave him her
phone number. "Will you call me tonight? Even if you
don't know anything new?"
"All right, honey."
Rachel hesitated. Then she said, "I don't understand
Dad. The way he reacted, you'd have thought I was sug-
gesting that he had something to do with all this, which is
really ridiculous, when you come to think of it, because
the two of us left the house together, and he didn't get
back from town for another three hours."
"You told me you thought he just couldn't bear the idea
of having people find out she was leaving him."
"I suppose that's it"
"Is it possible that he had some idea she was going to
leave him?" He watched her, waiting for an answer. When
she didn't speak, he said softly, prompting her, "Rachel?"
"I don't know," she said finally. "God knows /didn't."
 VIII

Back at the inn, Dade looked up and saw Pete crossing

the courtyard. Dade tooted his horn, waving at him out
the window. The boy saw him and came toward him,
wiping his hands on his long white apron. Dade got out of
his car,opened the trunk and started to lift out the card-
board box full of Miriam's papers. Pete said, "Here, let
me," and picked up the box. The two of them rode down
in the funicular. Ellen opened the door and Pete carried
the box in and put it down on the table, then turned, wait-
ing.
Dade fished in a pocket, then stopped, saying, "What-
ever I give you goes to that Mahatma, that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you give him my blessings."
"Thanks. I'm sure he'll be grateful." Pete looked disap-
pointed.
Dade thrust a bill into his hand. "And you take this and
buy you some food for your household, you hear me,
boy?"
"Yes, sir. I'll do that."
"Get yourself a chuck roast, something like that."
"We don't eat meat, sir."
"Well, learn. You look kinda peaky.Time you was put-
ting some flesh on your bones. Now, one other thing.
When you called on that lady, the one who got herself
killed, tell me exactly what happened."
"How do you mean?"
"What was she doing?"
58
 " "

Murder Mystery 59
"You asked me before about her— " he said, somewhat
defensively.
"Well, I'm asking you again."
"Mister, I don't want any part of this!"

A of suspicion sharpened Dade's glance. "She

glint
didn't happen to belong to the Mahatma's temple, did she?
I mean, she wasn't one of his followers, now, was she?"
Pete backed away. "I don't answer questions about the
others," he said, the eyes watchful.
"Well, you'll answer this one, sonny, and if you don't, I
—
might have a chat with the Mahatma only if I do, he'll be
sitting in a cell down and I want to tell
at the sheriffs,
you, son, that have argued many a case before the U.S.
I
Supreme Court and I'm pretty good, so if you want to
protect that fakir, you answer my questions."
"Mister," Pete said, rubbing the knuckles of one hand in
the palm of another, "we're not supposed to talk about
Holy Light on account of all that stuff that gets in the pa-
pers that isn't true, but, mister, believe me, I never seen
the lady in my whole life before this, never heard of her,
never said anything to her but about the job."
"All right, son. Now let's hear from you about that job.
You say you were going to patch the roof?"
"On the garage. What with the storms, the roofers are
allbacked up and she wanted us to tack some waterproof
canvas or something like that up over where the water was
coming in."
"You talk to her a long time?"
"Just for a minute. The maid let us in and she took us
through the house and into the garage. The lady, she was
on the phone and she kind of nodded at us and then she
came out and showed us the job, told us the problem, and
then went back inside. I guess she was still on the phone
because after we figured the job, we had to wait I rang
— —
the back doorbell and she came outside
"How do you know she was still on the phone?"
"There's an extension in the garage. She picked it up
and said something like, 'Those kids are still here.'
"She use a name?"
"I don't remember a name."
60 Murder Mystery
"But whoever it was must have known what you'd come
about."
"It sounded like it."
"She talking to a man or woman?"
"I don't know/'
"You left after thatr
"Yes, sir."
"But you say you didn't get the job."
"Well, like I told you, this was the day before the big
storm. See, the storm was forecast and the work had to be
done right away. That was it. If we wanted the job, it had
to be done right that day. Well, we couldn't do it, what
with me working here and so forth, and the next night,
—
when I saw Ken's car there it wasn't Ken's car, honest it
wasn't —
thought maybe he'd managed to get by."
I
Dade thought for a moment. Pete shifted uncomfort-
ably. Dade said, 'That's all she said? Those kids are still
here'?"
all I remember. After that, she just hung up and
"That's
we more about the job."
talked
Dade put a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're a
nice young man. You tell your mother I've said that twice
now. Your father living?"
"Yes, sir."
"He got much use for your present mode of life?"
"No, sir."
"Given up, has he?"
T suppose."
"When did you last write him?" r

"Oh ... a while back."

"You write him tonight, you hear what I'm telling you?"
The boy had a scared look on his face. "Now, you get
along out of here and let me do some work."
"Yes, sir." The boy remained standing, looking at Dade
expectantly, as if he hadn't heard.
"Come on, move it!"
The boyscurried out the door. Dade closed it behind
him, went over to the closet, pulled off his jacket and hung
itup carefully, loosened his tie and sighed. Ellen came in
from the deck and got him a sweater.
"What did Rachel say?" He began to tell her, putting
 Murder Mystery 61

things in chronological order. Interrupting him, she said,

incredulous, "Jensen actually threatened to kill Rachel's
boyfriend?"
"Well, he managed to convey that impression without
saying so in so many words. Anyway, that's what Rachel
says."
"Do you believe her? Imean, could she just be being
hysterical and imagining things?"
"She wasn't hysterical. And we know Jensen hated Nick
so much that he forced Rachel to choose between them
and then forced Rachel out of his house. Jensen's like that,
you know, and if he'd wanted to threaten Nick's life, that's
just exactly how he'd do it. Besides, there's no reason I
can see for Rachel to make it up. What would she gain?
No, honey, I can believe he did it. It's just his style. Re-
minds me of how he insulted Gil Ransohoff at the funeral.
That's Jensen, all right."
"Well, go on. Is that what Rachel wanted to tell you?"
"No. No, itwas something else. About a suitcase."
When he had finishedsummarizing Rachel's story, Ellen
sat down suddenly, as if all the wind had been knocked
out of her.
She said, "So, she was running away. She was leaving
him."
"You know," he said after a moment's reflection, "it al-
most sounds as if she did it on impulse — as if she were
running for her life."
"Yes, but people who run for their lives dont stop and
pack first." Ellen said. "And from what Rachel says, that
suitcase was already packed. It must have been. It would
take all day to collect things like that."
"That's perfectly true, honey. I've got no argument with
it But if she'd been packing all day, that doesn't mean she
planned to leave that night. Hadn't told Rachel and she
used to tell Rachel everything. She'd had her car serviced.
Sounds to me as if she planned to go away in that. Why
would she take the Rolls? According to Rachel, she hated
to drive it. And I'll tell you something else, Miriam had a
weak chest She once had pneumonia, and she had it bad.
She was always afraid of getting it again. Why would a
woman like that go out in the worst storm of the year?
 —

62 Murder Mystery
packed planning to leave sometime later.
"Let's say she
She left when
she did 'cause she had to. My
own guess is,
she was scared to death. No other way of explaining the
facts."
Ellen frowned, clasping her hands in her lap and look-
ing away, as if resisting his explanation. When he gave her
a questioning look, she said, "Then why on earth get out
of the car and run down that hill in a downpour to close
the garage door? A
woman who's scared to death just
wouldn't do that!"
Dade's eyes widened with surprise.
He got to his feet and began pacing up and down, eye-
brows twitching, glancing off to one side as if he imagined
a jury box there.
"What is it?" she asked.
He shook a large forefinger at her. "You got something!
You got something, Ellen, honey!"
"What?"
"She's scared to death. Everything she's done, she's done
'cause she's scared to death. That's so, isn't it? Well, that
means if she got out of that car, it had to be for the same
damn reason, honey. She didn't get out of the car to close
a damn door. She got out because some other car was
blocking the drive. High fence on both sides, mud every-
where! Whoever she's afraid of has just showed up. That
person gets out of the car. She jumps out of her car
doesn't even bother to shut off the ignition. Now she liter-
ally is running for her life —
back to the house! Whoever is
after her starts chasing her, sees her car, engine running,
door still open. A big heavy car is one hell of a weapon.
Person jumps in the car and chases her into the empty ga-
rage, slamming her up against that concrete back wall and
killing her."
"And the whole business about the broken transmitter is

just coincidence, is what you're saying?"

that
"In that case, it would have to be."
"Then it's an accident that it looks like an accident, is
that your point? Are you saying somebody used a car as a
murder weapon and the coroner misread it and called it
an accident?"
"I'm saying it's possible." He made a face. "Trouble is,
 —
Murder Mystery 63
now that Fve heard myself say it, I don't believe it. I don't
know what happened. That's what I've got to find out.
And the first step is, why? We got to get us a motive."
"Do you want to call Arnolphe Motke? Get him down
here?"
"Maybe."
"You're not a detective."
4<
No, but I don't want to go off half-cocked, either. I
told Rachel I'd get her somebody, but first I want to see
how the land lies."
"Now that I think of it, who stands to profit by
Miriam's death?"
"Nobody. She left her half of the gallery to Nettie
—
nothing more than a lease and some furniture personal
things of no value to Rachel — and the rest goes to char-
ity."
"Well, God knows Rachel doesn't need it She's got
pots."
"She has nothing at all."
"What? She has a hundred million dollars!"
"But she can't touch it"
"You're not serious!"
"I was Arnold Welles' lawyer. That's Jensen's daddy. I
made out his will before you and I were married. I know
what she's got See, here's what happened. Old Arnold had
two sons. One of them was Rachel's father, Jensen, and the
other was Philip. Now, Philip was a spendthrift, a drunk
and a philanderer but Old Arnold was crazy about him.
Christ, how he loved him! But Old Arnold had worked
bard for his money and he didn't want some dame taking
Phil for it, he didn't want Phil boozing it away or losing it
at the track — he just didn't know what to do. He wanted
the money to stay in the family but he didn't want Philip
to squander it
"So he left Philip and Jensen the income from the
hundred million dollars but had me put in a spendthrift
clause so nobody could ever borrow against his expectan-
cy. Jensen was furious and blamed me but the idea wasn't
mine, it was his father's. Arnold didn't want Philip to
think his father would play favorites and he thought that
the income from a hundred million dollars was more than
64 Murder Mystery
two men could reasonably spend anyway, no matter how
much Philip drank. On their deaths, all the money was to
go to charity.
"But he had me stipulate if there should ever be a
grandchildwho satisfied the rule against perpetuities, all
themoney would go to him, her or them but all the in-
come from the money was to continue going to the sons or
the survivor of — —
them in this case, Jensen as a life estate.
At the time Jensen and Philip were both married, but nei-
ther had any children."
"I don't know what 'the rule against perpetuities' is," El-
len said.
'Technically stated, it says that money must vest to a
person who was born not later than twenty-one years after
the death of a life in being at the time of the death of the
testator."
"Must you talk that way?"
"You asked me a question!"
"Well, answer it!"
"The rule against perpetuities is just a way of stopping
people from leaving money in the family indefinitely. Sat-
isfied? You it to unborn great-great-grandchil-
can't leave
dren, for instance, do you understand? Otherwise, all the
money in the country would tend to get tied up in estates.
But I told Arnold he could leave it to unborn grandchil-
dren, for instance. Arnold was very big on family and that
went down well. So he left his money to a hypothetical
grandchild, in this case, Rachel, who was born two years
after his death. Philip and his wife were killed ten years
ago in a plane crash. They had no children. That left Jen-
sen.
"Rachel is sole heir. She owns the whole hundred mil-
lion dollars. She'll get the use of it when Jensen dies. In
the meantime she's working as a waitress. Hasn't got a
dime. So just put your checkbook back in your purse. This
is no time for a spending spree."

Ellen poured some hot water in the tea and served them
each a cup. Picking up the thread of what they had dis-
cussed, she asked him, "But who on earth was there?"
Then she gasped, remembering. "The blue Mustang!"
 Murder Mystery 65
"It wasn't blocking the drive. It was out in front, near
the gates."
"I see." She stirred her tea thoughtfully, then asked,
"Did you find out if Miriam tried to stop him?"
"Rachel says one doesn't try to stop him from any-
thing."
"But did she try?"
"No." He thought for a moment. "Rachel says she
didn't."
"Then Miriam knew where he was going."
"Not necessarily. Maybe she didn't ask him because
they were having one of their quarrels. They quarreled a
lot"
"I thought you told me Rachel said that Jensen never
got into an argument"
"He thinks it doesn't count if you keep your voice
down."
"She would have tried to stop him anyway, for form's
sake. Wives always do. No, I'm right. And it must have
been important, dont you think?" Suddenly, her expression
changed, as if she had caught a glimpse of the truth
coiled, about to strike. "Dade," she said, "maybe it's very
simple. Maybe he was going out to kill Nick and she
found out about it and tried to stop him!"
They looked at each other. He sighed and shook his
head. "We keep forgetting about the suitcase," he said.
"Oh, God damn the suitcase!"
"Honey?" He looked at her with surprise.
She made a face. "I was almost right"
 K
Dade dumped the contents of the box onto the bed and
began to leaf through papers, glancing at old letters.
Ellen said, "Don't you hate doing that? Snooping, I
mean?"
"Somebody has He
went on reading for about
to."
twenty minutes, sipping his wine. Then, she saw him hesi-
tate, frowning. He got up and walked to the windows, a
paper in his hand.
"What is it? Can you tell me?"
"Well, she's dead now, poor Miriam is, and I guess it
won't hurt. It just surprised me because she never men-
tioned it, not once. She was married before, Miriam was."
"Lots of women have been."
'To a Richard Monkhaus." He looked at the decree,
then reacted with surprise. "Well, looky here."
"What?"
"She was only married to him a week."
"Then you mean an annulment"
"No, I mean a divorce. She made a five-thousand-mile
trip to get it. After one week." He showed her the divorce
decree. She scrutinized it and noticed something.
"Why did she marry a man twice her age?"
"Watch yourself."
"She did it twice," Ellen said,
"Come again?"
She pointed at the decree. "She married Monkhaus
when she was eighteen. He was thirty-six. And you're not
twice my age."
"Well, I look it and I think you're responsible."
66
 Murder Mystery 67
She kissed the top of "Then, I must see that I
his head.
take better care of you." He
put his arms around her and
tried to pull her to him but she freed herself, saying, "Men
have died from overexertion, did you know that?"
"But women, never, come to think of it!" He settled into
a chair, a pad of paper and a pencil on the rickety table
beside him and, on the floor, the cardboard box. After a
few minutes, he asked her to help him. She sat on a stool
across from him and together they went rapidly through
the stub books and checks, making occasional notes of the
largestsums and the bills Miriam had paid.
At five o'clock, he got up, stretched and poured himself
more wine. Ellen went out on the deck for a breath of
fresh air. Dade returned to his examination of Miriam's
records.
Most of the for over a few hundred dollars were to
bills
department stores or for credit-card charges. Regular de-
posits appeared every month in her personal checkbook.
Dade guessed that represented the allowance Jensen had
given her. Checks were written against this and, each
month, she wrote a check to her savings account for the
balance. It was all in order. Despite the physical confusion
in which she kept her desk, Miriam was meticulous in the
abstract. Her checkbooks were balanced and there were no
missing entries. No, there was nothing out of order, noth-
ing to attract any attention.
He was about to give up on her financial records when
he found her savings passbook. It was five years old and
contained regular entries made every month, indicating
that Miriam had saved a total of something over forty
thousand dollars.
There was one withdrawal. The passbook showed that
she had taken thirty-five thousand dollars out of her sav-
ings account and a crumpled receipt showed that the
money had been transferred to a cashier's check. The re-
cept did not indicate to whom the check had been made
out but the date attracted his attention. It had been made
out the day before her death. Dade whistled with surprise,
then rapped his knuckles on the table several times, as if
trying to call his thoughts to order. But, after all, it made
sense. She had packed carefully. She was leaving Jensen.
68 Murder Mystery
What more natural thing than to take cash with her?
Maybe the cashier's check was just a way of transferring
funds to another bank. He would not jump to conclusions.
He would wait and see. All he had to do was ask the bank
to have a look at the cashier's-check register.
From the deck, Ellen beckoned to him. She pointed.
High in the air, he saw what looked like a huge colored
kite launched from a bluff circling slowly over the busy
highway, spiraling down toward the beach. It was a hang
glider. Spread-eagled above them was the body of a boy
suspended by a harness from the cradle of the undercar-
riage, hands grasping the guide bars, ankles hooked over
the guy wires running back to the tail. Above the flying
boy, like brilliant plumage, stretched the taut sails of his
little airship, floating above the cars like an illustration
from a book of fairy tales. Gusts of wind buffeted him,
shaking his sails, and he turned, just as the gulls flying
above him turned, and rode an air current down across the
power lines and the wide beach, where bathers in their
bright-colored trunks and bikinis were scattered over the
sand like confetti at a party, then out over the water,
wheeling back toward shore and floating over the heads of
the black-suited surfers as they raced him back to shore on
their narrow boards, skidding to a stop on the strand at
the edge of the sea.
"Nice here, isn't it?" Dade said. "Last night I slept with
those windows open and you know what I dreamed? I
dreamed I heard the great blue whale singing to itself as it
swam through those big waters. They sing to themselves,
did you know that?"
"Yes, I know that."
"Breaks the heart, don't it? The Lord God, you know,
he was mighty proud of the whale. Boasted to Job about
it. Went on and on. 'He maketh the deep to boil like a pot

.
.' and 'Upon earth there is
. not his like, who is made
without fear.' No wonder he sings to himself. Td like to
hear it, upon my soul, I would." He looked at his watch.
"I want to stop at the bank."
"I have money."
"Not for that." He pulled on his jacket and straightened
his tie. Making sure he had with him the envelope Ballin-
 "

Murder Mystery 69

ger had delivered to him, Dade locked the box of

Miriam's papers in the closet and they left the room, head-
ing back up toward the parking lot
They drove down the hill to Miriam's bank. The bank
manager looked at the piece of paper Dade put down on
the desk before him, glancing at the clock and at the tell-
ers counting up their money and snapping rubber bands
around stacks of bills.
Dade said, "I realize it's late —
The bank manager said, "You need to know today?"
"I'm afraid do."
I
The manager gestured toward two wooden armchairs in
front of his desk. "You just make yourselves comfortable."
He went quickly behind the counter to a microfilm re-
trieval system and began punching buttons. He returned
with a scrap of paper on which he had written down a
name. He handed it to Dade, who studied it. On the date in
question,Miriam had purchased a thirty-five-thousand-dol-
and had it made out by the
lar cashier's check, all right,
bank to Proulx Galleries "for the purchase of a Giulio Ro-
mano."
"I wonder if I can speak with the person who helped
her."
The manager "Nadine always did. She's not here
said,
today. Anything can do for you?"
I

"I just —
wondered when she purchased it what time of
day."
"First thing in the morning. I let her in myself."
'Ten o'clock?"
"Yes. She went right over to Nadine's desk and left
shortly afterward."
"Thank you very much."
"A great loss." Dade nodded. "Will there be anything
else?" the manager asked.
"Mind if I use the phone?" The manager picked up his
phone and put it where Dade could use it, then excused
himself. Dade consulted his notebook and punched out a
number, saying to Ellen, "So that's where it went. She
bought herself a Renaissance painting."
"On the day before she died? What an odd thing to do."
70 Murder Mystery
"I want you to think about that remark for a moment
and then tell me what you find wrong with it."
She looked at him steadily and crossed her eyes. He
turned away. She said, "Whom are you calling?"
"Jensen. I have to arrange to have it appraised and so
forth." Jensen came to the phone. Dade said, "Jensen, this
is Dade. Would it trouble you if I came by for just a

minute now?"
There was a pause. Then Jensen said, "No, of course
not"
"Look, if it's inconvenient, we can make it another
time."
"Not at all. I know how
eager you are to get back up
north, and it's no trouble at all for us to meet now. few A
neighbors have stopped by but that's no problem."
"Ellen's with me. Just got down this afternoon."
"Make sure she comes with you, will you do that,
Dade?"
"In, say, about ten minutes, then."
"Fine.Look forward to seeing you."
Dade put down the phone and went to the car with El-
len. He "Afterward, I'm going to take you to dinner.
said,
I'm going to take you to a place out in the Valley where
they got seven mariachi bands taking turns. Food's so-so
—
but that music that'll blast you right out of your chair."
Ellen saw him glance in his rearview mirror. His ex-
pression changed. She said, "What's the matter?"
"I kind of thought so before but now I'm sure. Honey,
you just hang on to your seat!" He gunned the car and
raced out of the parking lot and up across the highway,
white hair blowing in the wind, the crocodile eyes squint-
ing at the road. His jaw tightened in anger. He swerved
into the right-hand turn lane.
"What is it? Where are you going?" she asked.
"I'm gonna burn his ass!" He slammed to a stop in
front of the sheriff's office, wait and
asked Ellen to
charged into the building. Dade went to the counter and,
through a glass partition, saw Valdez crossing the squad
room on his way to his office. A
tall skinny deputy with
blotchy skin got to his feet.
"Yes, sir?" asked the deputy.
 "

Murder Mystery 71

Dade pointed. "Tell that Lieutenant Valdez I want to

see him."
"He's not on duty now, sir."
"Fine. Then we won't be interrupted. Name is Cooley."
The deputy hesitated, then picked up a phone, punched
a buzzer and spoke into the phone in a low voice, turning
away from Dade. He put down the phone and turned back
to Dade. "This way, sir." The deputy led Dade around to
the lieutenant's office, then closed the door and went away.
Valdez looked up from the report he was writing out in
longhand. "Yes, Mr. Cooley?"
Dade sat down in a chair opposite him. "Still working, I
see."
"What can I do for you? It's kind of late."
"I'll talk fast."
"I don't mean to be rude but I've got to get this report
out."
"See, there was this hayseed Waldo —now, this is years
ago I'm talking about, back in World War Two. You've
read about that war."
"Yeah."
"Waldo was a damn fool. Fat. Head like a peeled on-
ion, with this wavy red hair sitting up on top of his head.
Always chewing Juicy Fruit gum."
"I wonder if I could ask you to get to the point."
"Old Waldo, he was a snake in the grass. You couldn't
trust him, not even to tell you the time of day. We decided
we'd teach him a lesson."
The lieutenant looked at his watch. "Mr. Cooley,
please
—
"Well, we set up this thing in the barracks. This was
over in France. When Waldo came in, he found us all sit-

ting around swapping stories. Only they wasn't stories, see,

they was confessions. Each one worse than the last. About
all the disgusting things we'd each done in our lives. We

explained that we were cleansing ourselves. Spellbound, he

was. Just plain spellbound.
"Come on, join us, wetime Waldo'd ever
said. First
been invited to join anything. Waldo rubs them fat white
hands of his together and says, 'Well, since you guys is all
 "

72 Murder Mystery
being so honest, Fm gonna level, too. Back on the farm in
Kansas, I once fucked a heifer.'
"Well, I want to tell you, I never heard such a yell in all
my born days. Laugh, I thought I'd die. At first, this poor
son of a bitch didn't know what the Christ was going on.
It hit him kind of slow-like. Then, he figured it out and his
face turned redder than his hair. He just got up and
walked out. Got hisself transferred. Never saw him again.
Tm the one thought it up. Now sample of the
that's a
kind of thing I got in store for you unless you give me a
goddamn good how come you've had a tail on
explanation
me for six hours." Dade took out his hunting watch and
opened it. "Refugio, you got exactly ten seconds to start
talking."
Valdez jumped to his feet, his dark skin flushing. "You
have no right
!**
—
"Folks my age tend to get farsighted, you know. I can
read that report you're writing right here from where I'm
sitting, even upside down." Hastily Valdez grabbed the top
sheet and turned it over. "It appears to me that the Welles
case is anything but closed."
Valdez sat down and clasped his hands, leaning on his
elbows, as if at times of stress he reverted unconsciously to
prayer. He sighed, bit a knuckle and then said, **Orders. I
can't discuss the case, okay? You want to make trouble for
me, Mr. Cooley, go ahead. I'm sure you can."
"I see." Dade got to his feet and headed toward the
door.
Valdez "Look, Tm sorry
said,
—
Dade waved the apology away. "Don't worry, boy. I al-
ready got what I come for."
 X
They drove to the Welles house. Ellen asked, **What hap-
pened to What was her name, Alice?"
his first wife?
Dade nodded. "Rachel's mother. Jensen and Alice had a
lot of trouble. He wanted to own her. She just couldn't
stand it. Felt like she was being eaten alive. You know,
the English say, The thing that beats you first will beat
you last. Well, he squeezed her so, she couldn't bear hav-
ing him around her. Wouldn't let him come near her.
Then, when Miriam first came to work for Jensen now, —
this is about ten years ago I'm talking about, when Rachel
—
was still a little girl Alice fell ill.
"It all started out with her imagining there was a bad
smell in the house. They had a great many servants in
those days and Alice, she had all of them scrubbing the
house from morning till night, trying to get rid of the
odor. Those who said they couldn't smell it got fired.
House stank of Lysol. That reassured her. She knew the
place had been cleaned. But according to Alice, the stink
persisted. Kept her awake nights.
"After that, Alice started to have fits of delirium and
convulsions. Jensen, he sent her to the Mayo Clinic. In no
time, everything began to go wrong. The doctors there
spotted the disease, even though the course, in her case, was
atypical. They told Jensen his wife had general paresis.
Jensen didn't recognize the term, forcing the doctor to be
painfully specific: Alice had tertiary syphilis of the brain.
"Obvious to Jensen where she'd got it. He himself had
gotten it years before, been cured of it in two weeks and
never let his wife know that he'd had it. He postponed
73
74 Murder Mystery
saying anything, reasoning that he'd know if she was in-
fected.He waited for symptoms. Well, there weren't any. In
poor Alice's case, disease skipped the first two stages, so
when it surfaced, there wasn't a thing that the Mayo
Clinic nor anybody
else could do about it Jensen couldn't
bring her home and, after a few months, she didn't even
know who he was half the time when he came to visit her.
She lived that way for five years and then died raving."
"Good God."
They reached the house. Rosarita opened the door for
them. Dade greeted her by name. She barely nodded, look-
ing at them both with smoldering eyes, as if in her, grief
expressed itself only as anger. She showed them into the li-
brary, where an armed Pinkerton man guarded the door.
A dozen people were standing around with drinks, helping
themselves from trays of canapes, their speech soft and
rapid as they looked at paintings, their voices a collage of
little reasonable arguments, like Bach inventions.

At one end of the windowless room stood an empty

easel.An adjustable spotlight on a stand pointed at it. Jen-
sen came toward Dade and Ellen, chin lifted, the long
thin nose seeming to seek them out. He wore black. In
the lamplight the bald domed head gleamed like the skull
of a specter on Halloween. Dade wondered whether he
oiled it for effect
"You remember Jensen Welles," Dade said.
Ellen held out her hand. Jensen took it "Please accept
my sympathies," she said.
"Thank you. Dade, thank you again for coming." He
shook hands with Dade, then gestured at the empty easel.
"We're about to view the Botticelli. I'm so glad you could
join us." The voice was strained. Jensen smiled at him
with an effort
Dade said, **We can't stay."
Jensen said, "I understand. You just want Miriam's pa-
pers." He looked suddenly relieved.
"I stopped by and got them earlier. Rachel gave them to
me."
know she was here."
"I see. I didn't
"She came out to meet me."
"Then this is just a social call. Well, Tm very grateful"
 Murder Mystery 75
His expression changed abruptly. A bony hand gripped
Dade's arm. Jensen drew him aside, his eyes bright and
hard. "Was he with her? That —
that friend of hers?" It
took Dade a moment to realize Jensen meant Nick. Ellen
moved toward the group of guests.
"No. I haven't met him. Rachel told me that they ** —
*T can well imagine what she told you! Well, it's not go-
ing to happenl I'm not letting my daughter marry a
crook!"
"You're sure he is one? Rachel said he makes a lot of
money."
"You know how? Commodities! In my life, I have never
known anybody who ever made a cent in commodities!
The market is dominated by speculators, and betting with
them islike playing poker with card sharks. Commodities,
I said! Hell lose his shirt! I told Rachel so! That was last
fall. A few weeks later, he came to me to show me a profit

of ten thousand dollars he made in a single month buying

copper. I thought it was beginner's luck. The next month,
he made even more in pork bellies. I couldn't believe it.
He showed me the broker's receipts. I made inquiries the
next day. My man told me Nick Levin made every cent of
that money just as he said!"
**That should set your mind at ease, Jensen.**
"Nonsense! He's a liar! First, he told me he had a sys-
tem, then he said it was luck. That was after he'd made
money in December, just as much, the same way."
"Jensen,maybe the boy's got a gift."
"He has no gift! He's a liar! It's a trick! Don't you un-
derstand, he's a crook! I've warned Rachel but she won't
listen! She listens to you. I want you to warn her."
"Jensen, right now we've got to have us a little chin
about another matter."
"Right after we view the Botticelli" He moved toward
the open lock room at the end of the library, signaling to
the Pinkerton guard at the door. The guard picked up a
large shrouded canvas and started carrying it over to the
lighted easel.
Dade said, "Jensen, the Botticelli's going to have to
wait."
 "

76 Murder Mystery
"I don't understand." Jensen's profile lifted in indigna-
He looked Dade Roman
tion.
"If you don't mind
to
— "
like a battered
Dade said.
coin.

"Come this way, please. Excuse us." Jensen led Dade

out of the library, murmuring excuses to his guests, and
across the hall to a bock-lined study with leather chairs
and green-shaded lamps. He remained standing, looking at
Dade with annoyance. Dade closed the door. That irritated
Jensen even more. "Look, if this is about Miriam's estate,
I don't know why we have to take it up right now. Can't it
wait?"
"One of the things I have to say can't, no."
"She didn't leave much. Nobody knows that better than
you do. What's the problem? Some kind of unpaid bill I
don't know about? What's so urgent?"
"There's nothing urgent about her estate, Jensen. As a
matter of fact, the only thing I haven't been able to ac-
count for is the Romano."
"Pardon me, I didn't understand."
"Hie Romano she bought on Monday."
"A Giulio Romano? Bought for whom?"
"Herself, it appears."
"Miriam never bought herself a painting in her whole
life."
"Well, she did this time."
*Tm telling you —
"Jensen, I don't want to get into an argument about
this.She drew the money for it out of her savings account
and I've got a record of the cashier's check she used to
pay for the picture."
"There
u
is no Giulio Romano in my collection."
Well, maybe you have another look."
better
"You listen to me! It was only yesterday I had the in-
—
surance people in it was their idea. I mean, the garage
door had been open, the house had been empty for hours,
somebody could have broken in. I've got an inventory,
right up to date. It does not include a Giulio Romano. It
does, however, include a Botticelli, and if you don't
—
mind " Jensen started out of the room.
Dade took hold of his arm. "I got something else to tell
you."
 " "

Murder Mystery 77
Jensen stared at the hand on his arm. "My guests are
waiting,"he said.
"There seems to be a question about Miriam's death."
"Question?"
"From what have been able to determine
I
—
"Who asked you to determine anything?" Jensen's face
mottled with anger.
"I'm representing Miriam's interests in a broader sense
than I think you understand. There seems to be some
question about her death and your daughter has retained
me to conduct a private investigation."
"How dare she do such a thing! How dare she! I'll have
my attorneys file against you for harassment, obstruction
of justice, anything they can name!"
"I'm not the only one who holds this opinion," Dade
said quietly.
"We all know what Rachel thinks!" Jensen's eyes were as
cold and hard as onyx.
"I mean the sheriff. Their investigation isn't closed,
despite what they told you."
Jensen moved toward a chair and leaned on its back.
"Are you sure of this?"
"I have myself seen a fragment of a handwritten report
saying that 'Jensen Welles continues under surveillance.'
Jensen, I don't know what's going on, but for Miriam's
had to come here and tell you what I know."
sake, I
"My God!" Jensen looked suddenly ashen, ill.
Dade looked at him, concerned. "You all right?"
Jensen nodded and said, "I'll have to ask you to excuse
me, please." He went out of the study, making his way
back toward his guests.
Dade picked up the phone and dialed. A woman's voice
said, "Yes? Who is it?"

"This is Dade Cooley, Nettie honey. Say, Ellen and I

are coming into town and I got a few papers for you to
sign, nothing important, just to get that gallery in your
name. I wonder if it'd trouble you if we stopped by?"
"No, please. When?"
He took out his watch, opened it and saw that it was
six-thirty. "Now, I don't want to interrupt your dinner
—
78 Murder Mystery
"Don't worry about it. I live here. Behind the gallery.
Just ring the bell." The phone clicked. She had hung up.
He suddenly remembered Miriam's laughter, telling him
about Nettie on the telephone. She never said goodbye.
The first time it happened, Miriam had thought Nettie was
annoyed at something but it wasn't that at all. She simply
put down the phone when a conversation was concluded.
Miriam had said, "Honestly, I don't know how we stay in
business! Nettie has hung up on half of Southern Califor-
nia society!" He could still hear her laughter, like a con-
tralto vocalizing.
 XI

Dade turned off the freeway at La Cienega and took the

boulevard north to Melrose Place. The gallery was on the
first block. They arrived shortly after seven, parking on

the quiet side street, which was lined with shops filled with
antiques and the wholesale showrooms of fabric houses
and furniture makers. The sidewalk was decorated with
small trees trimmed as standards and set in large stone
planters. On the street was a tile-topped stucco wall a
hundred feet long. A brass plaque read
PROULX GALLERIES
PARIS, NEW YORK, PALM SPRINGS, LOS ANGELES

That was a brave boast. Nettie lent others her name in ex-
change for representation abroad and in the East. The
Palm Springs gallery, little more than a narrow storefront,
had long since closed.
To the left of the plaque, wrought-iron gates opened
into a flagstone courtyard with a fifteenth-century marble
fountain in the center. Around it were the heavy closed
doors of various offices. One belonged to a firm of ar-
chitects, another to an attorney and a third to a film-pro-
duction company with an Iranian name. Dade knew that
Miriam had gotten Jensen to buy the location. Proulx Gal-
leries was only one of the tenants. At the back of the
courtyard was a long, low stucco building with a tile roof
jutting out over a terrace. Small barred windows were set
high in the wall. A nameplate on one side of carved an-
tique double doors repeated the name of the gallery, and
79
80 Murder Mystery
there was a small brass doorbell above it. The door was
unlocked. Dade rang the bell and then they went in.
On the walls of the thickly carpeted gallery were half a
dozen portraits by lesser-known painters of the fifteenth
and sixteenth century, each one exhibited in an ornate
gold frame and illuminated by a picture light. Dade called
Nettie's name, then went with Ellen through an open door
at the back into a small sitting room furnished with heavy
carved Italian furniture. A fire burned in a fireplace with a
green marble chimneypiece. In the center of the room was
a canvas on an easel. It was a portrait of a woman in an
elaborate jeweled dress of the sixteenth century. There was
almost a sly look to the sidelong glance of the eyes. The
lipswere parted in a simpering smile, showing spaces be-
tween the teeth.
Dade looked around. Through the windows, he could
see the lights on in Nettie's apartment. "You think we
ought to go on up, honey?"
"We rang the bell. Let's give her a moment." Ellen sat
down and studied the portrait.
Dade looked at it with distaste. "Damn shame to do
that to a woman."
"Well, you had to paint people as they were or you
didn't get paid."
that ought to have more sense."
"Lady with a face like
"Do you know what Nettie once told me? Now, wait a
minute. I want to get it right." Ellen took a deep breath
and then said quickly in an imitation of Nettie's rapid
nasal cultivated speech, *A cousin of the Duchess of Alba
was dreadful-looking, enormously rich and unspeakably
vain. She had herself painted as a raving beauty by Goya,
then hid the portrait away in one of her castles and when
she got old, she took it out and told everyone that was
how she had looked as a young girl, when Goya had loved
her!' " She broke off, seeing Dade's troubled expression.
"What's wrong?"
Dade looked around restlessly. "Where is she?"
"On the phone, maybe."
"I don't think she heard the bell."
"Give her a minute," Ellen said. She walked around the
gallery, examining paintings. When she turned back to say
 —
Murder Mystery 81

something to Dade, she saw that he had seated himself on

a small gold chair at an inlaid Carleton desk with blown-
glass doors opening on to a tiny curio cabinet at the
back of the writing space. He had taken a ledger check-
book out of a drawer and was leafing through it. Ellen
went over to him and slapped his hand.
He said, "I'm the executor, remember?"
"You still ought to ask."
"Jesusr
"What?"
"Here." He pointed a broad finger at something. Ellen
had to borrow his pince-nez to read the small handwriting.
It indicated there was a deposit on February thirteenth for
thirty-five thousand dollars and next to it, "$35,000.00
13 Feb.—one Giulio Romano —Dick Monkhaus," fol-
lowed by a scribbled address. He noted it.
She said, after a long pause, "All right, her first husband
turned up and offered to sell her a Romano and she
bought it. The fact that she died the next day in a freak
accident is coincidence."
He "God damn it, you confound me with common
said,
sense. But Where's that painting?" Like a hunting dog, he
went to the back door of the gallery and looked up at the
outside staircase to Nettie's apartment Dade sniffed the
air, then walked around to the right toward a little shed. It

was a workroom. He peered through a dusty window and

saw a can of turpentine on a shelf. Next to it were bottles
labeled Alcohol, Ammonia and Oil of Rosemary, and cans
labeled Benzine, Copaiba Balsam and Trichloroethylene.
Ellen's voice said, "I didn't know she did restoring." He
turned. Shehad followed him out and was standing at his
elbow, looking through the window. "You never men-
tioned that."
"I don't think she did."
"What's all that for?"
"Maybe just for cleaning," Dade said.
maybe Nettie—"
"Well,
"Wait a minute. What was that?"
She listened. They both heard it: a sound of moaning.
They hurried up the outside staircase to Nettie's apartment
and knocked at the door. There was no answer. Dade tried
82 Murder Mystery
the knob. The door was unlocked. They went inside. The
littleroom had been ransacked, paintings torn from the
wall, cabinets overturned. Dade strode toward the door to
the bedroom and listened for a moment. Hearing nothing,
he turned the knob and threw it open.
The bedroom was a shambles. It had been searched and
there were also signs of a struggle. Furniture was knocked
over, lamps and cloths pulled off tables. Dade tried to
keep Ellen out but she saw something, let out a cry of
alarm and ran to the other side of the bed.
Nettie lay there on the floor, moaning, blood oozing
from a wound in her scalp.
"Dade!" Ellen cried out
He rushed for the phone and called the police. By the
time they had arrived with an ambulance, Nettie had
recovered consciousness. She said she had hit her head on
the corner of a table and they could see traces of blood
there. Ellen and Dade had her stretched out on the bed,
Ellen had gotten ice from the refrigerator and was apply-
ing cold compresses to Nettie's head. The ambulance at-
tendants came into the room wheeling a stretcher. Nettie
shook her head.
"You have to go," Ellen said.
"I'm all right." The two police officers tried to argue
with her. She said in a low voice, "I am all right. No."
Oneof the policemen, a burly man with rimless glasses,
shook head at the attendants, opened his notebook and
his
asked her if she could tell them what happened.
"I don't know. I spoke to Mr. Cooley on the
— —
phone" she gestured at Dade "that was from the gal-
lery. Then I came upstairs to start dinner. There was some-
one here. I knew it the moment I came in the room."
"Can you describe the person?"
"I didn't see whoever it was. I was in here, you under-
stand. I tried to run out the door. I remember grabbing at
that table. I guess I was falling. Then I hit my head and
that's all I remember."
"Door downstairs open?" the policeman asked.
"You mean the gallery door? Yes. I left it unlocked for
my friends here. It all happened so fast."
The burly officer turned to Dade. "You say you and
 "

Murder Mystery 83
your wife found the gallery open?" Then, when Dade
nodded, he said, "Well, that's how he must have gotten
in." He turned to Nettie. "Any idea what he was after?"
"What they're always after, I suppose."
The officer said, "What they're always after is that stereo
you've got in the front room and that television. It's still
there. Lady, robbed, it was searched. Fur-
this place wasn't
niture smashed." He held upa broken gilt table. "I'm going
to ask you again, what were they after?"
Nettie put a hand to her mouth, astonished. "Smashed?
My beautiful table?" The other officer held up a small an-
tique lacquer vanity table. One leg was broken and the
lift-up top was splintered. Nettie looked at it and let out a
little moan of dismay. "Oh, of course! They were after my

jewelry. They must have been."

"You got jewelry here, lady?"
"Only paste. Everything good is in the safe-deposit
box."
One of the paramedics said something quietly to the
burly officer, glancing two or three times in Nettie's direc-
tion. The officer nodded, folding up his notebook.
"We're going to let you rest now, lady. Again, we have
advised you to seek competent medical treatment. If you
wish to refuse, that is of course your privilege. I'd like
your friends here to lock up for you when they go. To-
morrow, if you're feeling better then, we'd like you to give
us a more complete statement"
"Thank you," Nettie said weakly.
"In the meantime, do we have your permission to exam-
ine the premises, including your personal effects, for evi-
dence?"
"By all means." She turned to Dade. "Please show them
anything they want. The keys to the locked drawers are in
that Federal desk in the living room. If it's not open
—
"It's been broken open, lady," the officer said.
"Oh, no!"
The paramedics and the ambulance attendants had left.
The two officers followed them out, Dade going with
them. He offered to help them but the officer in charge
shook his head.
"I just wanted to know if we'd run into any resistance.
84 Murder Mystery
If it was drugs, she wouldn't know whether whoever it was

had found them. Permission like that means no drugs."

"Well, if there's nothing more I can do for you . . ."
Dade moved them to the door.
They started out, then the officer turned. A trick of light
refracted from his rimless glasses gave him for a moment
a blank, blind look. "She's a real bullshitter, isn't she?
What's the score?" He stood waiting. When Dade didn't
answer, he turned and followed his partner down the
stairs.
Dade came back into the bedroom. Nettie was up
sitting
in bed, an icebag in one hand held to the puffiness on the
side of her face.
She said, "Oh, Dade, isn't this incredible? I just-—"
Dade interrupted her. "I want to ask you some ques-
tions, Nettie."
"Oh, do forgive me, Dade, but wont they keep?" She
looked at him pleadingly with her two-colored eyes, one of
them now swollen.
"No, they won't" He spoke in a flat, hard voice.
"Somebody searched this place. What for?"
"I told the officer—"
"You told him a lie. Tm sorry to be so blunt but you
see, I knew from Miriam when she bought into the gallery
it saved your neck. You were almost bankrupt. There is no
jewelry."
"Of course there isn't I just said that to get rid of them.
My head aches and I didn't want hours of questions. I
don't know what they were looking for. Good God, the
last three days have been a nightmare, ever since Miriam
was killed." She wept, remembering. "I called as soon as I
heard. They told me Jensen had been taken to the hospi-
tal. Rachel couldn't even talk on the telephone. Her voice

was gone. She had cried so much, it was just in rags. All
she could do was whisper. At first, I was afraid I'd waked
her up. I was so upset, I didn't realize how early it was. It
was only eight o'clock and when I saw the time, well, I
was just mortified."
"This was the next morning?"
"Yes."
"How did you hear about it?"
 Murder Mystery 85
"It was on the news. to the news all day on the
I listen
radio. Isn't that silly? an addiction. They mostly
It's like
keep saying the same thing, elaborating along the way,
hour by hour, but I just keep listening. Really I think I do
it for company . ." She trailed off, her eyes closed in
.

pain.
"Dade, please," said Ellen.
"When I you from Jensen's, I had something else
called
I wanted you about. There's a painting missing."
to ask
Nettie said, "Well, everybody warned him not to leave
all that stuff in a house that's empty half the time, but he

wouldn't listen."
"This isn't one of Jensen's, Nettie. It's that Giulio Ro-
mano that was bought the day before Miriam was killed."
She looked at him blankly. "How do you mean, miss-
ing?"
"Well, do you have it here?"
"No. No, I don't have it Miriam took itvaway with her
Monday."
"I can't find it and nobody seems to know anything
about it."

"Well, there's nothing to know. Someone came in and

offered it for sale. All I can tell youis she worked on it

every day for a month, day and night, even had meals sent
in."
"Worked on it?" Dade asked.
"Cleaning it. Place stank to high heaven. Then she
found a buyer for it and sold it. I'm sure the payment was
deposited." She looked ill. She put a hand over her eyes
for a moment. Ellen shot Dade a warning look.
"Do you know who the buyer was?"
"Really, I haven't the slightest idea. Miriam handled the
whole thing herself."
"What would you say if I told you the buyer was
Miriam?" She stared at him. "It was paid for by a cash-
ier's check drawn on her savings account."
"Well, that happens. Sometimes clients need a few days
to have money transferred."
"So far as I can tell, no money was transferred. The
check was issued the day before her death."
86 Murder Mystery
"Oh!" She looked as if she weren't quite following his
argument.
"If she hasn't got the money, she should have the
painting."
"Yes, I suppose that's true."
"Well, where is it?"
"I have no idea. I simply have no idea." Now she
looked quite unwell.
He patted her hand. "We'll let you rest now."
She struggled to her feet. "Ill let you out. I have to lock
up after you." They went downstairs together. Outside,
they heard the dead bolt sliding into place and saw the
alarm light go from green to red.
 "

XII

Finding a pay phone on the street, Dade parked beside it

and telephoned the Welles house. There was no answer.
He called the number Rachel had given him. She an-
swered right away. He said, "I'm not calling you too late,
ami?"
"Dade? No, of course not."
"Rachel, honey, Miriam bought a painting last Monday.
You got any idea what happened to it?"
"Well, she bought paintings all the time. You should ask
Nettie. Do you know who she bought it for?"
"Bought it for herself."
"Dade, she never bought paintings for herself."
"She bought this one. It's a Giulio Romano."
"Nettie's the one you should ask about it."

"Nettie doesn't know where it is. And I don't think I'm

the only one looking for it." He told her what had hap-
pened at the gallery.
"Oh, my God!"
"Now, she's all right."
"Wait a minute! Dade, I just remembered something!
Miriam did bring home a painting! She was storing it."
"I talked to your father. He says the insurance people
just went through the house and there's no such thing
there."
"He's wrong. You tell him —
"He's not there, honey. I just tried the number."
"Why don't I meet you there tomorrow?"
"All right.What time?"
She hesitated. Then she said, "I can't Nick and I are
87
 "

88 Murder Mystery
driving down to Tijuana and he wants to leave at some
godawful early hour. Dade! I just realized I have to go to
the house to get some things for the trip. Is there any rea-
son I can't meet you there now?"
"Would you do that, Rachel? Say, in about an hour?"
Til see you then."
He hung up without saying goodbye, curious to know
how it felt. It was satisfying, bracing, he decided. Abrupt,
yes, but it put an end to all those "Well, it's been nice
talking to you" and "Well, I guess I'd better get going"
noises.
He drove out Pico Boulevard instead of the freeway. El-
len rested her head on his shoulder. He hummed 'The
Blue-Tail Fly" under his breath, and then sang to the mel-
ody:

"When 1 was young, a lusty buck,

Forty women —
I did

Ellen sat bolt upright. "What's the matter with you?"

wanted to find out if you were awake."
"I just
"Oh. Well, yes. I'm wide awake."
"Good. I got to stop by the Welles house."
"Not tonight!"
"You that tired?"
"No. But brought down
I my research and I have to read
my quota of pages today."
"I'll take you back first." He thought. "But what about
that dinner I promised you?"
us something."
"I'll fix

After he had left her at the inn, he drove down the

dark, almost deserted highway to the Welles house. Rachel
was waiting for him outside the gates. She got out of her
car and ran toward him, hugging him. He looked around.
"I thought you'd be with your friend Nick."
She shook her head. "He wanted to take me down to
the Fox Venice to see a revival to cheer me up. I want
you to guess what the name of the picture was."
"No idea, honey."
"Ivan the Terrible. In the first place, I am in no mood
to sit through Ivan the Terrible, And certainly not with
 Murder Mystery 89

him sitting there the whole time, his left hand up in front
of him to blot out the subtitles. Last week I had The
Stone Flower and Potemkin and that was enough. Tonight,
I just want to go to bed. He doesn't understand what I'm
feeling. And, frankly, there are times when I thank God
for that." Then she took his hand, pulling him along with
her. "This way," she said.
Instead of going in through the gates, she led him down
the steep driveway which ran just outside the fence and
curved down toward the garage at the end of the house,
the dogs running alongside and barking at them. Rachel
and Dade made their way down the dark driveway, hang-
ing on to each other.
"Monday, that's when it was. The next day was Valen-
tine's Day," she said. "I wanted to do a great big valentine
for Nick. I was over visiting Miriam that day, so I went to
where we keep the paint and there was this crate there. It
was maybe, oh, about two by three and not more than a
few inches thick. Well, I was curious. I'd never seen it be-
fore. It was open at one end. I reached inside and pulled
out this painting. I started to, I mean. Miriam showed up
just at that minute and she yelled out, 'Don't touch that!' I
said I was sorry. I didn't know what I'd done. She must
have seen my face because she came rurining over and put
—
her hands on my arms you know, we were very close
and Miriam just didn't talk to me like that."
"I know that, honey."
"Well, I was just completely taken aback. I said, *What's
the matter?' And she said —she was very apologetic —she
said it was just that it was and wasn't
terribly valuable
hers — oh, then it can't be the same painting, can it?"
"Never mind about Go on." that.
"Well, she begged me
not to touch it again. I asked her
what it was but she just shook her head."
"You say this was the day she was killed?"
"No, the day before. See, I had to get this done because
the paint had to dry, so I did it the thirteenth. She was
killed the next day. Some Valentine's Day." She put a key
into a lock and the garage door opened automatically,
lights in the garage going on. Jensen's car was gone.
Miriam's was parked on the right.
 "

90 Murder Mystery
Rachel stopped suddenly, turning away. By the glow of
the lights, he could see her face. She looked sick. She held
on to his arm. He embraced her, patting her.
"I'll be all right," she said.
"You sure?"
She gestured at the steep slope. "They couldn't get the
ambulance all the way down the drive, what with the mud
and the rain, so the men had to wheel the stretcher down.
They were slipping around in the mud, trying to get the
body on it" Behind them, the lights in the garage sud-
denly went out. "The damn timer," Rachel said. She broke
free of him and went back into the garage, flicking a
switch to turn on overhead work lights. Ahead, at the end
of Jensen's empty parking space, was the concrete block
wall against which the car had crushed Miriam.
Going to a row of cabinets built on the left side of the
garage, Rachel opened one and Dade saw a crate inside.
"Here it is, Dade." She lifted it down and handed it to
him.
He took it, glancing at it " When's the last time you saw
this? The thirteenth?"
"Yes, I think so." Then, catching herself, surprised, she
said, "No, wait! It was there that night! Remember, I told
you she asked me
do some things before I went out?
to
The garage was Some men came and put a tarp
leaking!
over it but she was worried and she made me come out
here to make sure there was no water coming in on the
painting. I did. I pulled it out and looked at it and it was
perfectly dry. There were no leaks anywhere. I told her so
and she said 'Thank God' or something like that."
Dade looked around. "Was the Rolls here that night
when you came out?"
"Yes. Dad had just gotten home. backed
you have to do that to get the cabinet
I
open— it out. See,

"
— just the way she did."
"Oh, my God, my God!"
"That's what she was doing out in the rain, Rachel. She
wasn't closing the door, she was getting the painting."
Rachel stared at the empty parking space, at the drive-
way, then at the cabinet, as if trying to reconstruct what
had happened. "She was running away. She had every-
 Murder Mystery 91

thing she cared about with her. And the last thing she
went after was that painting. It was an accident, that's
what you're saying, isn't it? It really was just a ghastly ac-
cident."
"That's how looks, honey. And I'd be prepared to go
it

along with that,except for one thing." She looked at him

blankly. He held up the crate. "There's no painting in
here."
She looked at him in utter amazement, then took the
crate and looked into it herself, as if she thought he was
playing some cruel joke on her. Gently he took the crate
back from her and put it away where they had found it
and closed the cabinet.
On the back wall of the garage, he could see a faint
smudged chalk outline where the police had sketched the
position of the body. He walked toward it. Rachel fol-
lowed him. The chalk marks were in the middle of the
concrete block wall. He glanced from there back to the
cabinets on the left, then crossed to the cabinet where she
had shown him the empty crate, opening it again and
measuring an invisible distance with his eye. Rachel
watched him. He grunted to himself, satisfied, closing the
cabinet.
"How did you find this when you came back that night,
open or closed?"
"Closed."
"Just the way it is now?" His tone was insistent
"I — I think it was She furrowed her brow, then
closed."
her face cleared. "Yes. I'm sure of it After I backed the
car out, I was trying to bring her around and I kept
screaming for Rosarita, and when she came out I told her
to get a flashlight. We keep one in there somewhere and
she was opening and closing cabinets looking for it."
"Hm. See, Miriam had to back out the car to open the
cabinet, all right, but she was hit here" — —
he pointed
toward the center of the rear wall of the garage "so the
cabinet could have been opened afterward without any
need to move the car. Seems to me she was killed before
she ever had a chance to open that cabinet and take out the
painting. Otherwise, if she already had it in her arms, the
murderer took a risk of smashing it with the car, or, if she
92 Murder Mystery
dropped it, running right over it, which is a strange thing
todo if the painting's the motive."
M
You mean she was killed for a painting?"
"All I'm saying is, it's possible."
"But that's absurd! I mean, nobody even knew it was
here!"
Dade sawthat staying in the garage was upsetting her.
He patted her arm. 'There's one other reason I'm fairly
sure she hadn't yet gotten the painting out. I can't imagine
why she wouldn't have left it in its crate to protect it,
since she had to carry it through all that rain up to the

car. No, my guess is she never took it out of the cabinet

Someone else did."
"The murderer?"
"Well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it? Now, I just
want to make sure I've got this straight. It was just after
six when she sent you out to check on that painting,
right?"
"Well, Dad had just —
gotten home yes, I guess it was."
"And the transmitter in the Rolls. Was it working
then?"
"I—I don't know."
"How did you get the car out?"
She looked abashed. "I have a thing about being closed
in —whenever I'm going out through the garage, I open
the door with that switch on the wall there first." She
walked over to a switch beside the garage door and next
to the row of cabinets and pressed it. The garage door
closed. "Come on in," she said, leading him to the door
into the house, "I'll let you out the front door. It's easier
than going up that driveway."
"All right."
"Just wait till I turn off the alarm." Rachel took out a
key and inserted it into the alarm system in the wall. She
turned the key and then punched out a code in a row of
buttons. When the alarm light went from red to green,
she unlocked the door leading into the house. "Isn't that
wonderful? They tell us it's for our protection. To keep
people out. The truth is, we're all our own jailers living
high on the hog in the Sing Sing Hilton."
They walked down the back hall together. Rachel
 Murder Mystery 93
stopped to open a storage closet and pulled out a pair of
hiking boots, a zippered canvas bag and a black plastic
poncho. "Army surplus store," she said, gesturing at her
things. "Less than ten dollars for everything. You learn a
lot, living in Venice."
Dade fingered the poncho and looked at the clumsy
boots. "You don't care too much for dressing up, do you?"
By way of answer, she pulled the poncho over her head.
It was nothing but a big rectangle with a hood. She peered
out at him, grinning. "When I wear it, Nick says I look
exactly like a garbage bag."
"I think he's right" She made a face at him, pulling it
off and bundling it under her arm. "Don't you like to
dress up?"
"I was dressed up like a doll from the day I was born. I
may never get dressed up again." She stuffed the boots and
poncho in the zippered bag and then, carrying it, walked
with him into the game room and then down through the
gallery toward the front door.
Finally, Dade said to her, "I don't want you to talk
about that painting for the time being, understand?"
"Should I go to the sheriff?"
"No. Not right now."
"Why not?"
Dade didn't answer.He walked up and down on the
tiles on them as if counting them, tracing
in the hall, eyes
out an arabesque with the toe of his shoe. Then he said,
"You want a lawyer's opinion?"
**Yes. Yes, please." Her eyes were watchful, alarmed.
"Let's say somebody stole that painting. Stole it and
killed Miriam in a rigged accident to hide the theft Well,
honey, right now nobody knows. Once you tell the sheriff,
you tell the press. There's no use pretending. The sheriff,
they try to keep things confidential. But a lot of things are
a matter of public record. The media is very curious, es-
pecially about the death of a rich lady. Word gets out
Result: You don't just tell the sheriff, you tell the mur-
derer. And you don't want to do that. You stay out of it"
"Are you going to say something yourself?"
"I'm just going to report it as missing. I'm her executor.
94 Murder Mystery
It's my job. But I don't want anyone getting the idea that
you might know something, understand?"
She nodded, then opened the front door for him, leav-
ing it open behind her. "What shoulld I do?"
"Nothing."
The dogs ran up to her, nuzzling her. "Come on," she
said. "I'll walk you to your car."
"Don't you want to lock up?"
"I still have to collect a few odds and ends." She went
with him to the gates and let him out.
Dade watched her walk back to the house and go inside.
 XIII

He went and was surprised to

directly to the sheriffs office
find Valdez still there. As soon as he was shown into his
office, Valdez threw down a pencil impatiently and said, "I
understand that Mrs. Proulx you went to see tonight, that
—
French lady got herself assaulted" he consulted his
—
notes "she was partners with the deceased Mrs. Welles,
isn't that correct?"
"Yes."
"Mind telling me the
reason for your visit?"
"I'm Mrs. Welles' executor and Mrs. Proulx is one of
her heirs."
Valdez gave him a look. "I thought Mrs. Welles didn't
have any money of her own."
"Not in the sense you mean. The bequests are small."
"I see." Valdez sat back, tilting his swivel chair and
locking his hands behind his head. "Look, I understand
your beef about the tail. It's just routine. What can I do
for you at this late hour, Mr. Cooley?"
"I came here to report some property missing."
**Taken from your room?"
"No, from the Welles house."
"When?"
"Sometime this week."
"How come they haven't reported it?" Valdez asked.
"From what I judge, they didn't know it was there."
"But you did."
"Part of her estate."
"Value?"
"Thirty-five thousand dollars."

95
96 Murder Mystery
"Look, Welles is on record saying there's nothing miss-
ing."
"I understand that," Dade said.
The phone rang. "Excuse me," Valdez said, picking it

up. He said "Valdez" into the mouthpiece, listened for

three seconds and then jumped to his feet, saying, "Get
me a car!" and slammed down the phone. "There's been a
shooting at the Welles place," he said, striding to the door.
Dade followed him. They ran out of the building and
got into the back of a waiting squad car, then raced down
the highway, lights flashing, siren on, two squad cars and
the paramedics' truck following them up the long slow
curve of the dark highway. Minutes later, the cars and the
truck turned left across the center divider, then headed
back south to the Welles drive. Valdez and Dade got out
of the car. Rachel's car was parked where Dade had last
seen it, under the trees at the side of the drive, outside the
gates. The grounds were dark, lit only by the headlights of
the sheriffs cars. The gates were locked. One of the men
yelled, "Watch out for them goddamn dogs!"
Valdez aimed a flashlight through the wrought iron,
then said, "You don't have to worry about the dogs." He
played the beam of his flashlight across the drive and they
could see the dogs lying on the ground, blood-splattered. A
deputy yelled for a ladder. Brandt, the deputy who had
been there the night Miriam was killed, knew his way
around. He tried a hidden switch on the gatepost which
controlled the garden lights. It didn't work.
"Power's out," Brandt said. Two deputies ran up carry-
ing a rope ladder with grappling hooks and threw one end
of it over the eight-foot-high spiked wrought-iron gates.
Brandt scrambled up in the dark, balanced and then
jumped, opening the gate with a manual release hidden in
a stone pillar.
Valdez and Dade went along the path, preceded by four
deputies with drawn guns, the paramedics driving slowly
behind them. An owl hooted. There was no other sound.
One of the deputies went up to the front door and lis-
tened, then tried the knob. It was locked. Valdez said,
"Somebody could be in there with her."
"Want me to get the bullhorn?" Brandt asked. Valdez
 Murder Mystery 97
hesitated. Brandt said, "It's either that or we'll have to
break in. Want me to get the ax?" He signaled to his part-
ner, who ran back toward the squad cars.
Dade turned to Valdez and said, "The garage. It's a lot
easier."
Valdez nodded, pointing at another deputy. "You and
your partner wait here." Valdez and Dade hurried back
through the gates, then down the steep driveway which ran
outside the fence to the garage at the end of the house,
clambering down the narrow road with the dirt piled high
on either side. Brandt and his partner ran ahead of them,
his partner carrying an ax.
There was no need to break in. The garage door was
wide open. On a wall, Valdez spotted an electrical box,
pulled out a handkerchief and opened it carefully, holding
his light on it, then nicked the power switch from Off to
On. The lights came on in the garage and all over the
garden.
"Get the print crew on Valdez said. Dade's eyes
this,**

raked the garage. The cabinet where the painting had been
stored was open now and the empty crate lay on the floor
of the garage. Valdez walked to the back door leading
from the garage into the house. Dade went with him. A
deputy stepped in front of them, stood to one side, gun
upraised, turned the doorknob, found the door unlocked
and kicked it open. Silence. The hall was empty. They
went down it quickly, then into the game room and from
there, into the gallery. The lights were on and there was no
sign of anything wrong. Valdez nodded toward the front
door. A deputy strode toward it, sliding back the dead bolt
and unlocking it, letting in the other two deputies and the
paramedics. Valdez reacted as if he had heard something.
He motioned them all to be quiet. Nobody moved. Valdez
made a gesture. All four deputies began rapidly searching
the entire downstairs, guns drawn. They worked in silence,
treading lightly and opening doors suddenly, without warn-
ing, always standing to one side. There was no sign of
anyone anywhere. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.
Very quietly, while the paramedics waited in the front
hall, the six men mounted the stairs to the second floor.
While Valdez and Dade waited, the search was repeated.
98 Murder Mystery
Everything seemed in order until they tiptoed into Rachel's
old room and a deputy tried the door to the bathroom and
found it locked.

Rachel's voice called out, "I have a gun and I know

how to use it!'*
"It's the sheriff," said the deputy. "Throw down the gun
and come out with your hands in the air." There was no
sound.
Dade honey?" Immediately there was a
said, "Rachel,
click of the door being unlocked and Rachel appeared, a
.32 dangling from one hand. She looked as if she were
about to collapse. Dade went toward her. She dropped the
gun, almost falling into his arms.
"Oh, God. I thought you were him."
"Search the grounds," Valdez said to the others. They
ran out. Dade and a paramedic helped Rachel to sit down.
Pulling out his flask, Dade made her take a big swallow.
She looked at the lieutenant in front of her. "What hap-
pened, Miss Welles?" Valdez asked.
"Is he gone?"
'There's no sign of anybody."
"IsBad dead?"
"The Doberman? I think they're both dead."
"Both? Oh, no!"
"What happened? Can you tell us?" Valdez asked.
"Take it easy, honey," Dade said.
"Just after you left, I heard a popping sound, like fire-
crackers. thought it was that damn car of Nick's he's
I —
—
always having trouble and I went out the front door and
there was Bad. I just stood there for a second. I couldn't
think. I wanted to get away but I was afraid to go get my
car. Iwas sure he was out there. I ran back in the house and
bolted the door. Then I thought, 111 go through the house
to the garage and get Miriam's car! I just wanted to get
out of here! But when I went in there, the garage door
was open and there was a man there. I guess I screamed.
All the lights went out and then he shot at me. I could see
the flashes, just like in the movies.
"I ran back into the house and slammed the door and
then ran upstairs in the dark and got the gun Miriam al-
ways kept in the drawer by her bed. I locked myself in the
 Murder Mystery 99

bathroom — there's a phone in there —and I called the

whispered and then I hung up because I was
sheriff. I just
afraid he was after me. I was in there on the floor in the
dark, with the gun in my hand, it seemed like forever, and
I kept thinking, He's coming. Then the lights went on and I
could hear somebody opening doors. I was so afraid."
A deputy had come into the room. He said, "Skid
marks in the drive. Fresh. A few footprints in that soft
dirt. They're on the way up here with plaster. Bullet holes
in the garage. Plaster came down from over the door lead-
ing from the garage to the house. Gun fired from inside
the garage. We found some slugs. The guy's got a forty-
five. Whoever it was shot off the lock on the garage to get
the door open."
"How come no alarm?" Valdez asked, looking around.
"Oh, God, I had it turned off," Rachel said. She looked
at Dade. "Remember, when we came in? I was going right
out again, you see, and . . ." She trailed off.
—
"As for prints " the deputy continued.
"I think he was wearing gloves," Rachel said.
"What else?"
"A raincoat. And boots. Black, shiny rubber boots."
"You didn't recognize him?" Valdez asked.
"He had on one of those stocking masks. Do you know,
they're horrible? My
God, I never realized it before.
They're like the hood of an executioner. Anonymous. It
was nobody. There was no way I could have recognized
him."
"Did he say anything?"
"Are you serious? When I screamed, he turned out the
lights and then fired at me. I ran away! How could he say
anything?"
Dade said, 'The lieutenant, he wants to know whether
you heard his voice."
"No."
"Then how do you know it was a man?"
"I —
I just know. I mean, I —
I think it was. It was
dressed in men's clothes."
"Could you have made a mistake?" Valdez asked.
"What?"
100 Murder Mystery
"If it had been a woman in men's clothes, could you
have told?"
"I . . ." She began to tremble. Dade got out his flask
and forced her to take another swallow. Holding on to
him, shuddering from the brandy, she said, "I don't know!
It all happened so fast!" Suddenly, realization flooded her
face. "My God, he tried to kill me! Why?"
"We don't know that," Valdez said. "You had him
trapped in the garage. Maybe he was just trying to scare
you off so he could escape."
Dade said, "If he wanted to shoot you, he wouldn't
have turned off the lights. Seems to me he turned them off
9*
so you couldn't see him.
"He shot over your head," Valdez spoke gently. 'That
plaster over the garage door is a good seven feet high."
Dade pulled out his address book, checked a number and
called Jensen's club. "I don't want you to be alone,
honey." He waited a moment, then: No, Mr. Welles
wasn't there and the man at the desk had no idea where to
reach him. Dade put down the phone, thinking.
Rachel gave him Nick's number. "Call Nick."
"Let's not do that, honey, okay?" Dade patted her
shoulder. Rachel's pallor was marked. Both Valdez and
Dade were aware of it. They exchanged glances. The para-
medic offered her smelling salts. Dade said, "What's the
name of your doctor, honey?**
"I don't want to see a doctor!'*
Dade took one of her hands in his, squeezing it. "I want
you to tell me the name of your doctor." She compressed
her lips. The blue eyes looked away defiantly. Dade put
his head near hers and said, "What's his name, honey?"
She thought for a moment or two. Her expression
softened. She sighed. Her eyes met Dade's. "It's Gil Ran-
sohoff."
"You know his number offhand?" She rattled it off.
Dade punched it out. They could hear the slow ring, ring,
ring, and the sound of a woman's voice answering.
"Chloe?"
"Yes."
"This here's Dade Cooley. Listen here, we got us a little
 " " " "

Murder Mystery 101

problem with Rachel. Is that doctor husband of yours in

shouting distance?"
"What's the matter? What is it?"
"Could he come to the phone?"
"You should be able to reach him at the hospital. Has
there been an accident?"
"Somebody broke in here —
"What!"
"Now, it's all right—"

"At the Welles* house?"

"Yes, ma'am. Rachel, she's kind of shook up
—
"I'll come right out."
"That's not necessary."
"I'lltalk to her," Rachel said, reaching for the phone.
Dade patted her hand.
Chloe asked, "Who's with her?"
"She's alone. Jensen doesn't seem to be at home —
"She has to stay here," Chloe said. "I'll come and get
her."
"I think we can deliver her right to you." Dade looked in-
quiringly at Valdez, who nodded. Rachel started to pro-
Dade put a hand over the phone and said to her,
test.

"You pack some things. Now, move." Rachel left the

room.
"What's going onV Chloe asked.
"There was a bit of a shooting affray, to be honest with
you. Now, nobody's hurt."
"Oh, my God! I don't understand!"
"Most understandable thing in the world. Crooks read
newspapers, just like the rest of us. Best day in the world
to rob a house is when there's been a funeral. Nobody's
home. Now, I'm sure that's all there was to it. We'll send
her right along. Chloe, I'm much indebted to you."
As soon as Rachel was packed, Valdez told one of the
deputies where to take her. Rachel insisted on driving her
own car. Valdez agreed but told one of the deputies to
ride with her, the other to escort her.
"But if I'm not in any danger —
"You're not now." Valdez walked into the corridor, giv-
ing orders to his men in an undertone.
"Do what he says, honey, will you do that for me?"
 "

102 Murder Mystery

"You'll call me tomorrow?"
"'Course will. I already wrote down the number.
I
See?" He held up his address book. She nodded and
started out, the deputy carrying her suitcase. On impulse,
she ran back and hugged Dade, kissing him. He gripped
her shoulders, saying in a half-whisper, "You take it easy,
hear?"
"Ready?" It was Valdez, putting his head in the door.
Rachel said, "Yes. Yes, thank you, I am."
They both went out the door, following Valdez down
They walked down the stairs in silence. Valdez
the hall.
asked Rachel for the house keys. She went to get them.
"Thanks," Dade said to Valdez.
"I have no objection to taking precautions." Then in a
low voice, he said, "Look, I know what you're thinking.
But it was just an intruder trying to rob the place on the
day of the funeral. We run into that kind of thing all the
time. Mr. Cooley, you've got the wrong idea. Back in my of-
fice this evening," he said almost impatiently, "I don't
know what you saw or what you think you heard, but
there's been a misunderstanding. There is no ongoing mur-
der investigation in the Welles case. And unless you've got
some new evidence why there should be —
"All right, you've made your point."
Voices of the paramedics floated toward them as they
loaded the dogs' carcasses onto a stretcher. "Watch out,
the bag's coming open."
"Where do we take this thing? The morgue? It don't
seem right"
"Take it to the vet," Valdez said. "The one we use."
"They're dead, sir."
"Do what I fucking told you."
"Yes, sir."
They heard the sound of vehicles starting up. Valdez
nodded at Dade, who was escorting Rachel. deputy A
brought Rachel's car around. Rachel got behind the wheel,
Dade got in beside her, and with the deputy in back, Rachel
drove Dade down to the sheriff's station to get his car.
They drove for a while in silence. In the parking lot, she
said, "You think he's right? That it was just a burglar?"
"No." He told her about the crate in the garage. She
 Murder Mystery 103

pipped his arm. "As I said before, try to stay out of it.
light now, the less you know, the safer you are."
"Did you tell the sheriff about the painting?"
"I told him it was missing. That's all I told him. Then
vg were interrupted with that call from you. Rachel," he
aid abruptly, "what I want to know is, can you keep your
twn counsel?"
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Everybody talks. Now, I want to know if you can keep
our mouth shut. For your own sake."
r

She looked at him levelly. "Yes."

"After what happened to Nettie and then this tonight,
'm sure you see why."
She turned away from him, hands over her ears, as if
rying to drown out the sound of something that
rightened her and was closer now. "Then she was mur-
lered. That's what you're saying, isn't it?"
He didn't answer. She got back into her car with the
raiting deputy and Dade headed back to the inn.
Ellen stretched out her arms sleepily as he eased into bed
reside her. She murmured, "What time is it?"
"Late. Go to sleep."
She looked at the clock in disbelief. "What happened?"
"It's a long story." Reaching across her, he picked up
he phone and called San Francisco.
She mumbled sleepily, "Ring Lardner once described
omeone as a man of few words, most of them ill-chosen,
md I think he was talking about you."
"He also said his wife was an inveterate umbrage-taker
md frequently took more than was good for her." He got
^olphe Motke's answering machine.
The voice said, "Motke," and then there was a beep.
"Name. Nick Levin. Subject: Commodities. Base: Los
Angeles. This here's a first-class ticket, Arnie, okay? This
nay help you: Somebody's already been over a lot of the
jround." He rang off and began to tell Ellen what had hap-
)ened at Rachel's, breaking off at the point when they
vere searching the house, when he realized Ellen was fast
isleep.
 XIV

Dade slept well. He was up at seven and found a note

from Ellen reading, "Out getting gas." She had made coffee
and he sipped a cup while ordering breakfast, then went
for a dip in the ocean. Emerging shivering, he toweled
himself dry in the brisk morning air, standing on his deck
and looking out at the flat, bright sea, then got out of his
wet trunks and pulled on a terry-cloth burnoose. At
seven-thirty, breakfast arrived, brought by a smiling Pete.
Dade sat down and, tucking a large napkin at his neck, he
addressed himself to a hearty breakfast of ham, eggs, fried
potatoes, toast and jelly and coffee laced with cream and
sugar, meanwhile reading his newspaper and commenting
on it aloud, occasionally turning to one side to address the
President, the head of the Teamsters, a convicted terrorist
and the editor of the Los Angeles Times.
It was eight o'clock and he was on his fourth cup of
coffee when the phone rang. It was Motke.
"About Levin. Been in the country for a year. I ran a
ten-twenty-nine on him. No criminal record. But I'm still
checking. There is something."
"What?"
"I'm still trying to pin it down. There's a discount broker
down there says he knows Levin. Started to laugh when I
mentioned his name. Wouldn't say what he thinks 'cause
it's still a guess. Guy owes me. I sort of reminded him about

that. So he says, okay, he'll lean on some friends and get

back to me around three. I'll call you then."
Dade had no sooner put down the phone it rang again.
It was Rachel, worried because she hadn't been able to

104
 " —

Murder Mystery 105

each Nick. She had called him from Gil's but he wasn't
lome yet. Gil had given her a sedative that was stronger
han she realized and she had gone to sleep immediately.
Vhen she woke up, it was already eight and Nick's phone
tidn't answer.
"We're supposed to go to Tijuana today. He won't know
/here I am."
"He'll find out. I got an idea he's smart enough to ask
luestions."
"Dade? What are they going to do?"
"About what, honey?"
"What happened."
"I'm sure they're on it." He drank more coffee, wonder-
ag if she had ever told Nick about the painting.
"Aren't they going to investigate anything?"
"Why don't you ask them? Ask that lieutenant fella
/aldez."
"I thought maybe he'd said something to you. M
"I don't know beans. You talk to your daddy?"
He wasn't there. He left early. And
"I called his club.
le'snot at the house yet."
"I'll get hold of him. Something bothering you?"

"I just want to see Nick."

He remembered that she was a young girl in love. "Hell
urn up. I already told you that."
"And I want
go home."
to
"Why we
talk about that in a little while? I got a
don't
ew things that need doing this morning. What say I give
ou a ring after lunch and well talk about it, that okay
r

rith you?"
"What do you mean? What are you going to do?"
you later."
"I'll tell

"Something about all this?"

"I said I'd tell you. Only if you promise to stay put all
"
(ay. Now, I want to hear it, Rachel. Say, 'I promise.'
Phere was a silence. "And I want you to cut out the tele-
>honing. Just don't talk to anybody until I call you, you
•romise me that?"
"I have to call and tell them I won't be at work."
"You me do What's the name of the place?"
"It's
let
the Taco
that.
Bell on Lincoln. Just tell them —
106 Murder Mystery
know what to tell them. Now, you just sit tight. Bye-
I I
ble, honey." Dade put down the phone and returned to his
newspaper. A
few minutes later, the phone rang again.
The operator announced a Mr. Levin. Dade told her to ]

send him on down, then went to the door.

Nick, ignoring the funicular, came running down the I

long steep flight of stairs. Dade shook hands with him

"

gravely, introducing himself. Nick was even handsomer

than his photographs. He seemed shaken. His face was
drawn. He asked, "Was an accident? You tell me." Dade
ushered him in and offered him coffee. "I don't want .

want truth."
coffee. I
"What makes you think there was an accident, son?"
"I go by Rachel's apartment. Rachel not there. I wait
Then go to her house. Is a policeman. He ask me ques-
I
tions. I say,'Where is Rachel?' He don't tell me. He just
ask me questions. For half an hour. 'Where you were last
night? Why not home?' I say finally, 'Rachel is dead?' He
ask me why I think that. I start to yell at him. He say
Rachel not dead but won't say no more and to go away,
j

You tell me now what happened. I think you know. Where

is Rachel taken?"

"Now, she's just fine. She'll tell you all about it herself."
His voice was flat and hard. "You don't tell me where
she is."

"You going to be home at like three this afternoon?"

Nick nodded slowly. "Well, what say you give me your
number and I'll call you then?"
"You do not trust me?"
"Why don't you sit down a minute and help yourself to
coffee? I got some questions."
"Just like the police,is it not?"

"Now who's not doing the trusting?"

Nick's lean, angular face broke into a wide smile, frank
like a child's. He sat down. Dade went to the kitchen and
got another cup and saucer and brought them to him.
Nick helped himself. Dade sat back, watching him.
"Say, tell me something. Where do you do business?"
"I don't have it an office. Here, I do business." He
tapped his head. At the mention of "business," the smile
 Murder Mystery 107

ivaporated. Business appeared to be a very serious affair

o Nick.
"What business you doing lately?"
"Say it again, please?"
"I was asking what you're investing in now." Dade
ipoke clearly and slowly.
Nick nodded like a mandarin. He wrinkled his nose and
>ursed his lips. His eyes narrowed. The play of expression
lad variety, degree. He said finally, "At present times, I
im in currencies."
"Which?"
"Swiss francs. I have this good feeling about Switzer-
and."
"Nice clean people."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. You think silver's going limit up Mon-
lay?"
Nick gave him a surprised look and then grinned. "You
ireneeding money?"
"Son, money's like poontang. The more you get, the
nore you have to have."
"What is it, poontang?"
"Women. Imean girls, son."
"Oh, The grin widened.
is girls!"

"Let's get back to money. What about silver?"

He opened his hands and shrugged. "Anybody's guess."
"What's yours? Look, I'm not going to quote you."
"I have no opinion."
"Well, what do you like?" Dade picked up the newspa-
per, folded open to the financial page, and thrust it at him.

'Here."
Nick took the paper, glancing at the stock quotations
ind made a face. "Up, down, up, down! Like never be-
ore. Why?"
"It's the Arabs."
"Yes? You think so? Why?"
"See, they got a lot of money in the market and they
jell when it goes down and buy when it goes up. That's

four answer."
Nick thought about this for a few moments, a frown on
lis face. Then he got a look at Dade's amused expression
108 Murder Mystery
and burst into shouts of laughter, repeating Dade's words
under his breath as if committing them to memory. "You
know what is with the Arabs," he said after a moment. "Is
like with an old servant. She works. Is happy. Why to pay
her more? So it is with the sheik. He is sitting there all the
time on the sand and all the time is the people bringing
him toys, they give cars and watches and jewels and the
great banquets and all the time, he is eating and focking
girls, oh, how happy he is!
"And then one day, the son, he grows up and goes away
to Oxford and he sees what is what and then he go home
and he say to his father, 'You dummy!' " Another wide
smile. Then the face changed suddenly, becoming serious
"I am honest with you. All questions I answer. But when i
am asking you where is Rachel, you don't tell. What is
reason?"
"Now, Rachel's fine. While we're on the subject, she
tells me
you know she has no money."
"I think she is having one hundred million dollars."
"Yes and no. She has the money but she can't touch it."
"Is exactly what I understand. And the father is giving
to her money all the time. Is called an allowance. I under-
stand."
"Not anymore and he won't give her another penny if
you two get married."
"I know this, I know this." Nick waved it away impa-
tiently. "We wait. We wait."
"To get the allowance?"
"Not for me. For her. For why do you ask me all this?"
"Just getting to know you, son. Me, I got a feeling that
money isn't all you got on your mind. I know a fellow sin-
ner when I see one. No, it's all right. Bible, it says the love
of money is the root of all evil but it don't say a thing like
that about poontang!"
Nick laughed a loud, ringing laugh and then said with
the candor of a Shakespearean character confiding in the
audience, "All times, I am thinking about focking and the
pissy."
"Pussy."
"Is what I say. I like it, the pissy, and that is what I
think about the most. Some men, they thinking all the
 "

Murder Mystery 109

time about the titties and I like that but what I am think-
ing about most times is the pissy, you understand?"
"How are you going to manage with just one?"
"Say it again, please?"
"When you're married."
"Oh! I still think about all the girls, how can I help it?
In my life, I fock two hundred eleven women. Is good?"
"Rachel, she understands that?"
"She is understanding. Besides, what I do? I don't do
nothing now, just think. At least, this is my hope. If not
possible, that very bad. I don't wanting Rachel like
is

trapped. I wanting her therefore to be having her money.

Me, I have money. No problems, correct? Rachel, she must
be having money, too. Her money. Otherwise, come prob-
—
lems she can't go. I am realist. I tell her I love her but I
not know the future but she say, *We must marry now,' so
Iwant her protected, do you see?"
"Have you told her all this?"
"Many time. And to Miriam I tell it. So Miriam is say-
ing to Rachel, 'You wait. Your father, he is changing his
mind. Wait, wait.*
"Oh, he changed his mind, all right. He decided to solve
the problem by threatening to shoot you, isn't that so?"
"Is true. All like Rachel says."
"This was Tuesday, correct?"
Nick nodded emphatically. "On the Valentine's Day.
We don't have it, the Valentine's Day, in Soviet Union,
you know. Rachel call me and say what is happen."
"When was that?"
"After eight. Maybe fifteen minutes after."
"And what did you do?"
"Like Rachel says. I go out of apartment."
"Were you afraid of him?"
Nick gave him a contemptuous look. "Why to be
afraid? A man try to kill me, I kill him first. But with the
papa is a different thing."
"Yes, I understand that So you went out?"
"Exactly."
"Where?"
To restaurant to wait."
"You went straight to the restaurant?"
110 Murder Mystery
"Yes. Is called Land's End."
"But look here, you're five minutes closer to the restau-
rant than Rachel's house and she didn't leave for another
fifteen minutes, and yet you arrived there the same time
she did She said so herself. So where did you go?"
Nick shrugged, his expression untroubled. "I am driving
around, thinking what to do. First, I think, this man he is
crazy. Maybe he shoot Rachel, too, isn't it? I am, how you
— —
say" he made a roiling gesture "like this inside. Then,
when is time, I go to restaurant."
Dade nodded and grunted. "You've been very open with
me and I'm grateful to you."
"I am not holding nothing back. For what is the reason?
For whose benefit is it do not pretend to
to tell the lies? I
live. I live. All the lies is why I am leaving Soviet Union.
Here is my life. You can
see me. In Russian, we are say-
ing, —
Derzhi karman shire how does it say? Hold open —
your pockets wider. Because every man, he hide some-
thing. Me, I don't hide. I like it, the money, the pissy,
Rachel."
"Well, you got one big thing in your favor, son. Miriam
liked you."
The boyish face sobered. "She was friend. Was terrible
thing."
"When was the last time you saw her, by the way?"
"Is when Rachel move out The papa, he don't want me
to go there."
"Well, Jensen or no Jensen, I still think you should have
fixed that roof for Miriam. What with that painting in
there—"
"She did not ask me." He tried to catch himself but it
was too late. The eyes hardened. He got to his feet, hands
flat on the table.
Dade said, rising. "Son, you've been very helpful. Now,
just run along and wait for me to call you."
"I don't like it, what you do to me. I don't think I un-
derstand you, what you are."
"In case you're still working on your English, the word
is 'captious.' " Nick's hands tightened on the table's edge.

Dade opened the door. "You'll be hearing from me," he

said. Nick left abruptly.
 " "

Murder Mystery 111

Dade went back into his room, pulled off his burnoose
and stepped into the shower, singing and scrubbing him-
self. A little while later, shaved and dressed, his pink face

redolent of Jean Marie Farina, he came out of the

bathroom to find Ellen seated at the table drinking coffee
and reading the newspaper. He kissed her good morning.
She did not look up.
"You mad at me?"
"What on earth ever gave you an idea like that?" Then
in a sugary tone she asked, "Did you and Rachel have lots
and lots to talk about last night? Ooooh, I bet it was excit-
ing for you!"
"Ellen—"
'The company of a girl of eighteen must be a treat for
a man of seventy."
"Sixty!"
"Picky, picky."
'Truth is, I stopped by last night to see that lieutenant
The one I met in the men's room."
"I didn't know you were working there anymore, dear."
Ignoring her, he went on, "Then we got word someone
took a shot at Rachel."
"Oh, my God\ Was she hurt?"
"No." He told her what had happened. She was aghast
"Fm going to call on Mr. Monkhaus. I want to find out
what he knows about that missing Romano. Meanwhile,
—
you run down to the Getty you know that museum he
built in Malibu, looks just like a villa in Herculaneum?"
"I know where the Getty is, dear."
"Well, they've got a little art library down in the base-
ment, right behind the garage where they've got tomb
friezes and such, and I want you to get me a list of the
missing Romanos. Berenson's got a book on lost art —
"Homeless Paintings."
"That's it But that's stuff they've lost recently. See what
else is missing. Oh, and would you make a call for
Rachel? I don't know the number but she works at the
Taco Bell on Lincoln, and she wants them to know she
won't be in today. Tell them —
"Oh my land!" She had just caught sight of something
in the paper. "I won't have to tell them anything. They
112 Murder Mystery
can read all about it." She showed him an article in the
newspaper. The caption read, "Burglar Shoots Dogs, Ter-
rorizes Bereaved Heiress."
"Oh, boy." He kissed her briefly.
A
Upstairs, he paused at the desk to leave his key, bald-
ing man with the pasty complexion of a tourist stood there
in a Hawaiian shirt, a large woman in a polyester slacks
suit standing beside him. Dade leaned in front of them
and said to the sharp-featured woman who was trying to
answer the telephone and wait on them at the same time,
"Thank you, Madeleine."
"The name is Mary."
"Whatever it is, loved you last night."
I
She slapped the of her hand hard down on the desk.
flat

He hurried away into the parking lot and, after checking

the address he had copied down from Miriam's records, he
drove south on the highway toward the freeway, singing
Mozart's "La ci darem la mano" along with the baritone
from the Met on the radio.
 XV
A new slide had blocked the highway at Big Rock. Dade
turned around and went up Rambla Pacifico, climbing
several miles up to the spine of the mountains separating
the narrow coast from the rest of the city. Then he turned
right onto Saddle Peak and drove for miles, finally making
a right on Topanga, a boulevard that ran from the Val-
ley through the wall of the Santa Monica Mountains to
the sea. It swept down through a forest where there were
campgrounds at the edge of a stream, past the shanties
and shopping center of what once had been the refuge of
the flower children. He emerged once again on Pacific
Coast Highway, not much more than a mile south of
where he had started. He had driven twenty miles out of
his way to get around the slide. Malibu was an inhospit-
able coast. Only the Chumash had really lived there well,
had adjusted the rhythm and style of their lives to that
restless land where every year there were fires, floods, high
tides that washed away nouses, mud slides that engulfed
whole districts, rock slides, earthquakes, destructive winds
and where every few years the records for heat and cold,
precipitation, frost, everything, were broken.
Even though it was a Saturday, it was a good hour before
he got to the house. It was a pink stucco bungalow on a
tree-shaded street just below Fountain Avenue in Holly-
wood. The patch of lawn was overgrown with crab grass,
and unkempt oleander bushes screened the windows from
view. At first, Dade thought he had the wrong address.
When he got out of his car, he could hear voices raised in
argument, a man's and a woman's. The speeches were
113
114 Murder Mystery
punctuated by banging and the occasional crash of dishes
breaking.
As Dade started up the concrete path, sounds
the
stopped. Inside, a door slammed. Stepping up onto a porch
that leaned to one side, Dade rang the doorbell. There was
no answer. After a few moments, he rang it again.
The door opened abruptly and a woman stared out at
him through a screen door. She was the actress he had seen
at the funeral. She wore no make-up. Her thin, straw-
colored hair was unkempt. She wore a dirty white terry-
cloth wrapper and he noticed that her bare feet were dirty.
She looked at him, not saying anything.
"Mrs. Monkhaus?" When she didn't answer, Dade intro-
duced himself, taking out a card and offering it to her.
"I'd like to talk with your husband for a few minutes."
"He can't talk to you now."
"It's important."
"Can you tell me what it's about?"
"I'm the executor for the estate of the late Miriam
Welles."
"Just a minute."
The door closed. He could not hear anything. He waited
a long time. Hebegan to wonder whether she was coming
back and was about to ring the bell a second time when
the door opened again. This time, she held the screen door
open for him. He stepped into a stucco alcove, then fol-
lowed her into a small living room in which there were a
pair of overstuffed chairs from the forties and a matching
sofa. Under an arch, dark double doors were closed. The
door leading from the entry into the rest of the house was
also shut.
Mrs. Monkhaus followed him into the room. She said,
"My husband really can't talk to you now. Do you have it
with you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"My husband's painting. Did you bring it with you?"
"We seem to be talking at cross-purposes, ma'am. I just
came here to ask you some questions about it. Why don't
you just begin by describing it for me?"
"Describing it?" She seemed at a loss. "Well, it's a pic-
ture of a woman, a very beautiful woman, done in the
 "

Murder Mystery 115

style of the Italian Renaissance." She made a self-con-

scious gesture. "She's wearing a sort of buff-colored shawl
and she has dark hair and dark eyes. Does that help you
at all?"
"Do you have a photograph of it?"
"No. Why would we? Anyway, my husband can identify
it easily and I can't believe Jensen Welles would get it

mixed up with anything else. I mean, he has everything

catalogued, hasn't he?"
"And who was the artist, can you tell me that?"
"My husband's
"Your husband's
father."
father? But I had the impression —
"Tillie!" a high thin man's voice called out.
One of the double doors was yanked open and the man
Dade had seen at the funeral with her appeared in the
doorway, a half-filled glass in one hand. He was unshaven
and thick-set, with strong features. Dade noticed that his
eyebrows were raised, as if in surprise, but that his face
was expressionless, almost immobile.
"He hasn't got it, is that what he's trying to tell you?"
he said to Tillie. Then, to Dade: I suppose Welles sent you.
Well, you tell him for me he's got one hell of a nerve! I
happen to know a thing or two and you can tell him I said
so!" His voice was shrill and Dade was struck by the fact
that the man spoke very slowly, moving his lips with care.
His wife reacted with alarm, putting her hands on his
chest, pushing him back into the other room.
"I said I'll handle it!"
"I want to talk to him! I want to talk to the man that son
of a bitch sent to do his dirty work!"
"Not now!" She succeeded in making him go back into
the other room, pulling the door closed behind her. Turn-
ing to Dade, she whispered, "It isn't a good time."
The door banged open again and Richard Monkhaus
said, "That's my painting and I want it back!" Quickly,
Tillie stepped forward, pushing him back again into the
other room and once more attempting to close the door on
him.
Dade pointed at a rectangle on the wall, lighter than the
rest of the wallpaper in the room. 'That's where it hung,
isn't it?" When Monkhaus didn't answer, but only stared at
116 Murder Mystery
him, the face still expressionless except for the raised eye-
brows, Dade said, "Judging by that discoloration, I'd say it
hung there for years."
Breaking free of his wife, Monkhaus walked unsteadily
over to the wall Dade had indicated. A
scrap of the wall-
paper had come unglued and curled up. Suddenly Monk-
haus reached up, grasped the paper and ripped a whole
section off the wall. Crumpling it up in one hand, the
drink sloshing in the other as he walked, he lurched back
toward the other room.
"Dump!" he said shrilly. 'That's what this place is, a
dump! At least, mat painting dressed it up some! I want it
back and you go tell Welles I want it back now!"
Tillie forced him back through the double doors, mur-
muring, "Monk, Monk, please* in a surprisingly soft,
gentle tone. She closed the doors. There was a crash in the
other room, as if Monk had fallen against something. Tillie
gave no sign that she had heard.
"I have to ask him a few questions," said Dade. "Don't
make me have papers served and drag him into court."
She looked suddenly frightened. "Can't you let him
alone? For Christ's sake, he's made his contribution! Let
people remember him as he was. You don't want to
parade a drunk around a courtroom!"
"He's not a drunk, ma'am." When she continued staring
at him levelly, not answering, Dade said, "How long has
he had it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"He has Parkinson's disease." Dade's voice was gentle.
"The symptoms are unmistakable. For some reason, you're
keeping it a secret. Or trying to. That drunk act is a
cover-up." She reacted as if he had suddenly pointed a
gun at her. The frightened eyes searched his face. "Why
did he take the painting to Mrs. Welles?"
—
"They they were friends." Her voice was low, hoarse.
Her clear eyes continued to meet his.
"Once, they were a whole lot more than friends."
"All right, so you know. But that was years ago." Her
eyes moved toward the closed double doors, then back to
his. She spoke in a voice as soft as a sigh. "The painting
 Murder Mystery 117

was an excuse. It was worthless. He went to her with it be-

cause he was begging."
"Your husband must be a very successful beggar if he
goes to somebody for a handout and she gives him thirty-
five thousand dollars."
"My husband never cashed that check she gave him, even
though we didn't have a cent in the world." She gestured
at the shabby room. "We were broke. I haven't had a part
in years, if you must know the truth. Anyway, the point is,
my husband decided not to sell his father's painting after
all."
"Then I take it you're not broke anymore."
"I work."
"Where?"
difference does it make? I don't know what Mr.
"What
Jensen Welles is trying to pull but we don't want char-

ity —
not from Jensen Welles or anyone else. We just want
back the painting, in exchange for the check. That's fair
enough, isn't it?"
Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sound of an en-
gine revving up and then, through the dingy curtains of
the windows at the other end of the room, Dade saw a car
reversing fast down the narrow driveway, heard the
screech of brakes, then the roar of the motor as the car sped
off up the street.
Tillie stared out the front windows after it Dade turned
to look at her.
She said, "He heard us. He listens. All the time. Oh,
God, he shouldn't drive. When he's upset, it gets worse.
Much worse."
"Wherewill he go?"
"Sometimes he just drives for hours. I don't think he'll
do that today. Please go now. He'll check the street. If
your car isn't here, maybe he'll come back sooner."
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry! I've told you what I know. I don't know
what you hoped to gain by coming here. All Monk wants
is the painting back."
"Enough to kill for it? Because that's how it will look if
that picture is found in your husband's possession. See,
118 Murder Mystery
there's good reason to believe Miriam Welles was mur-
dered for it."
"It isn't true! My God, it isn't true!" She turned sud-
denly, twisting her right hand with her left, as if trying to
keep herself from striking him.
Dade leftthe house, clapping his hat firmly on his head.
He stepped down from the porch onto the concrete path,
unable to forget that the car Dick Monkhaus had backed
down the driveway in was a blue Mustang fastback.
 XVI

Dade walked back down the cracked concrete path toward

the tree-lined street, boys skateboarding on the sidewalk,
the sky dull with smog. A workman in overalls staggered
down the street, drinking from a bottle in a paper bag.
Somewhere close by, Dade could hear
the approaching
uh-hunh uh-hunh uh-hunh of an ambulance and then, as
he slid behind the wheel of his car, the rising siren of a
police car.
He drove past the shabby houses toward Fountain Ave-
nue, turned right, drove around the block and then turned
up the Monkhaus parking at the end where
street again,
his car was half hidden from view by the spreading
branches of a big avocado tree in front of a Green and
Green style cottage on the corner. Dade settled back in his
seat, taking out his notebook.
An old woman man's coat-sweater and a green visor
in a
opened her front door and shuffled out in felt slippers to
pick up a newspaper. She stood on her porch and stared at
his car for a few moments, as if memorizing his license
number, and afterward went back inside and slammed the
door shut. Dade thought for a moment, then got out of his
car and went up to her house, knocking at the door. She
didn't open it but she was watching him because a voice
called out from behind a heavily curtained window. "What
do you want?"
"Do you know what time the Radnitzes will be home?"
"I don't know any Radnitzes."
'They live across the street. I'm the adjuster from the
119
120 Murder Mystery
insurance company. They said they'd meet me at ten and
they're not home."
"Why don't you park over there?"
"Shade. If I've got to wait, I don't want to park in the
sun. That is, if it's all right with you. Nice tree you've got
here, this avocado. It's a Bacon avocado. Did you know
that?" She opened the front door and peered up at the tree
—
through the screen door. Dade said, "It's unusual it's a
boy in the morning and a girl in the afternoon."
"Well, it's sure in the right part of town."
Dade laughed. He glanced at his watch and said, "I'm
sure they said ten. It's really important that we get this
matter settled. After all, it's money in their pocket I don't
understand their not being here."
know anybody named Radnitz."
"Well, I don't
Thanks anyway, ma'am. And have a nice day."
"You do the same. You just make yourself at home."
Dade heard a window bang shut behind him he went
as
back to his car. Settling himself once again behind the
wheel, he returned to his notebook, writing slowly with his
gold pencil. First, he made a list of names. After each one,
he made brief notes of where each of them said he was
between eight-thirty and shortly after nine, meanwhile
keeping an eye on the street
At one point he broke off impatiently and began talking
under his breath. He reproached himself, saying that he
had no business doing what he was doing, that he ought to
call San Francisco and get Arnolphe Motke down there.
Snorting, he pointed out to himself that he didn't even
know the rules of the game.
Then he spoke in rebuttal. He was a damn good lawyer,
wasn't he? Wasn't this a matter of examining the evidence,
sifting it, looking for the truth? He raised his voice, began
gesturing, breaking off only when he saw a woman with a
shopping cart full of groceries hesitating, squinting in at
him through round, metal-rimmed glasses. He lifted his hat
and nodded in her direction. She turned and walked
briskly on.
The defense had won. He was persuaded that he knew
exactly what he was doing. Tapping the gold pencil
against his teeth, he studied his notes.
 Murder Mystery 121

A few cars had gone by and Dade had looked up each

time but had been disappointed. He had waited half an
hour, long enough. He started the car and was about to
pull away from the curb when a car came around the cor-
ner fast It was a blue Mustang and Monk was driving. He
pulled into the driveway, disappearing from view.
Then Dade saw Monk coming down the driveway on
foot, back bowed, arms held out stiffly. He made his way
slowly across the patch of weedy lawn and then, the front
door opened for him and he went inside.
Dade switched off his engine and waited, trying to de-
cide what to do. He filled his pipe, smoking it steadily, ru-
minating. He had just about decided to go back inside and
confront Monk when the Mustang backed into view again,
but this time Tillie Monkhaus was driving and she was
alone.
She headed up toward Hollywood Boulevard. Dade fol-
lowed her at a distance. When she turned right onto the
boulevard, he followed her more closely. She drove only a
few blocks, then turned right and parked in front of the
Greyhound bus station. Dade saw her take a small suitcase
from the trunk, then hurry inside. Parking behind her, he
followed her.
From across the waiting room, he saw her go to a wall
phone. She did not, as with most people, turn toward
the wall for privacy but looked straight ahead of her, out
at the room itself. It seemed to be a local call because she
only put one coin into the box. She spoke twice, briefly,
angrily. She waited, composed. Then, apparently, someone
came on the line and she spoke with animation, uncon-
sciously expressing herself with gestures, as if whoever was
at the other end of the line could see her. She glanced at
her watch, shook her head, said one more thing and put
down the receiver. Then she went into the ladies* room,
suitcase in hand. Dade sat down to wait, watching the door
from a vinyl-upholstered chrome armchair as he read his
paper.
He waited perhaps fifteen minutes and when she finally
emerged, he almost missed her. She had changed clothes, a
cloche hid the unkempt hair, her face was made up and
her whole bearing was different. She wore boots and her
122 Murder Mystery
clothes were flashy, common. She took small, rapid steps
and her gestures, when she took a vial of perfume from
her purse and put a few drops on her wrist, were quick,
decisive. Now he noticed her legs for the first time. They
were slender and set off by the high-heeled silver boots
which matched the color of her suit. Suddenly, Dade un-
derstood what she did for a living. She walked briskly
toward the doors of the bus terminal. Dade followed her,
going out a side door.
It was about eleven-thirty. The street was crowded. He
got into his car and followed her as she drove down to
Fountain, took it to La Cienega, went left down to Santa
Monica and then right toward Century City, where she
left her car with a parking attendant at the Century Plaza
Hotel, then went inside. Dade got out of his car, leaving it
in the line of cars to be parked, and followed her. She
went toward the main bar, which was crowded with
businessmen. She spoke to the headwaiter and was led
toward a booth.
A man rose to greet her. He was thin, with a raised beak-
like nose.Even in the dim light of the bar, Dade had no
trouble recognizing him immediately. It was Jensen. And
he was obviously upset at seeing Tillie.
Dade made his way toward the bar, ordered a martini
made with Bombay gin, and sat sipping it, watching the
faraway reflection of Tillie Monkhaus and Jensen Welk
in the mirror over the bar. They talked heatedly for
minute or two. Then Dade saw Tillie lean toward Jensen.
Suddenly, she got to her feet, an angry expression on her
face, and left the room. Jensen had risen. He swayed 01
his feet.Dade hurried over to him. He managed to get
Jensen to sit down in the booth again. Dade sat down with
him. Jensen's face was damp with perspiration. He blotted
it with a linen napkin.
"What happened?" Dade asked.
"Nothing." The sight of Dade seemed to bewilder Jen-
sen. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Having a drink." Jensen's eyes strayed around the
room nervously. "You expecting somebody?" Dade asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact I am."
 Murder Mystery 123

"You talk to Rachel?" Jensen looked at Dade blankly. "I

thought perhaps she'd called you."
"I haven't been home."
"Then you don't know what happened last night."
"That? I know about that The sheriff called me." Dade
gave him a surprised look. Jensen said impatiently, "In my
position, you get to expect these things. They told me, they
told me. I understand. Day of a funeral, that element al-
ways tries to breakI'm only sorry Rachel should have
in.

been there. You notice they got nothing."

"Somebody took a shot at her."
"And hit the ceiling of the garage."
Dade grunted and changed tack. "Oh, I happened to see
you talking with Mrs. Monkhaus. Have you known her
long?"
"You know that woman?" Jensen's voice shook.
"All I know about her is that she seems to be looking
for a missing painting. The same one I'm looking for."
"I know nothing about it." Jensen compressed his thin
lips, put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, picked up a
menu and began reading it with great attention, as if
checking it for spelling and punctuation.
Dade put the tips of his thick fingers together, looked
around the dim, crowded bar and then said, "She tele-
phoned you and asked to see you. You arranged to meet
her here." Jensen's face showed nothing. "That is true,
isn't it?" When Jensen remained silent, Dade said, "You
mind telling me why you agreed to see her if you don't
know anything about the painting?"
A dull flush mottled Jensen's cheeks. He said in an un-
dertone, "It doesn't concern you and that's all I'm going to
say."
Dade up a fork and examining it
hesitated, picking
carefully, as were a rare piece he was interested in
if it

buying. Then he put down the fork and said, "It does con-
cern me. I'm the executor and the painting is missing. That
is my problem. I'd be grateful for any light you could shed

on it."

Jensen sighed, removed his glasses and, pulling out a

handkerchief, began polishing them. "Very well, then: Her
husband called me the day after Miriam died. The day
 "

124 Murder Mystery

after, mind you! He told my secretary Miriam had gotten a
painting from him on consignment or some such thing and
he wanted it back and she promised to give it to him. I
didn't know what he was talking about. I said to get in
touch with Nettie and forgot about it. He called me again
that night. Said Nettie didn't know where it was. I said I
didn't either. I'm afraid I hung up on him. Hell of a time to
call a man, don't you think? He called a few more times
after that. My secretary got rid of him.
"When his wife called a little while ago, she was
abusive. My secretary said I'd better talk to her myself, so
I did and I agreed to meet Her here to straighten things
out. Woman threatened me. I don't have the painting, I've
never had it, and I don't know what the Christ she's talking
about. 'Get a search warrant,' I said. 'Search my house.
Search everything. When you get through, I'll sue you for
slander and libel. Doesn't matter whether I win. By the
time I get through, you won't have one thing left in the
world.' She looked kind of shaken up. She knows I mean it.
Satisfied?"
"You say she threatened you? How?"
"It isn't important. Dade, have told you what know.
Now, if you'll excuse me — I I

Dade rose and stood over Jensen, looking down at the

bald skull, the long nose once again buried in the menu.
Dade said, "Jensen, is there any way I can help you?"
Dade waited. Jensen ignored him. Finally, Dade said,
"Well, I tried."
 " "

XVII

Dade made his way out of the crowded bar and crossed
the hotel lobby to a pay phone. He called Nettie.
"You feeling better?"
"I'm fine. You were very kind. You and your wife."
"Nettie, mind if I stop by, in, say, about fifteen
minutes?"
"No, not at all."
"I've got some more questions."
"Dade, I'm going to beg off." Her voice was crisp. "Af-
ter what I went through last night
—
"Incidentally, almost the same thing happened to Rachel
a few hours later."
"What?"
"I'll see you shortly." He replaced the receiver, then
turned to a cigar-smoking man waiting to use the phone
and said, "By God, I hung up on her!"
"Attaboy!" the man said.
Dade called the inn and got hold of Ellen. She said with
a note of relief in her voice, "Dade, where are you?"
"Century City. You find out anything?"
"It took me forever."
"Hey, that's too bad. I just ran into Jensen
Welles. I should've asked him."
'Well, go ahead!"
"Now, Ellen—
"No, I mean it Go ask him. wait." m
"Honey, I don't want to ask him anything. Now, what
did you find out?"
"All Romanos present and accounted for. There are
125
 "

126 Murder Mystery

none missing, neither recently nor from long, long ago.
None have been sold in the last couple of years, and the
top price was twenty-three thousand dollars."
"Got another assignment for you."
"Ask Jensen Welles."
"I'm asking you. I want you to go back to the Getty and
do a little digging. When I get home, I want you to give me
a brushup course on authentication. What did Miriam do
and just how did she do it?"
"I wish you'd thought of this earlier."
"What's the matter?"
"The bus only runs once an hour."
"Land sakes, can't you rent a car?"
"In Malibu? They don't even have cabs. Furthermore,
there was another rock slide and half the highway is
closed."
"Iknow. I took the detour."
"You'll be lucky to get back. When will you be, by the
way?"
"In a little while. First, I have to see Nettie."
"Why don't you ask her about authentication?"
"Meow, meow!"
"Well, why
don't you?"
"Fm more interested in finding out where that painting
is. 'Course, I don't know whether I can trust what she
says. You know, last night, she told me a barefaced lie."
"She About what?"
lied?
"Now you know what I know. Just search your
memory. Any messages?"
"Just a minute!"
"Ellen, I'm on a public phone in the lobby of a hotel
—
"I want to know what it is she lied about."

"Think about it for a minute, then I'll give you the

answer. Any messages? Motke call yet?"
"Just Nick Levin."
"I'll getback to him later. This is turning out to be
quite a little puzzle."
"Then you think she was murdered?"
"Oh,yes. It was murder, all right."
"Dade?" He could hear worry in her voice. "You stay
out of it!"
 Murder Mystery 127

"I'm jut beginning to put a few things together."

"Yes, and somebody's watching you do it." The opera-
tor came on to say his three minutes were up. "Dade?" El-
len said,"Dade? What was the lie?"
"Ellen, I don't have any more change in my pocket."
"What's the number there? I'll call you back."
"I don't have my glasses on."
"You have eyes like a hawk!"
"I'm late, honey."
"You bastard!"
He hung up the phone and walked toward the doors of
the hotel, whistling.
When Dade arrived at the gallery, Nettie was on the
phone, walking up and down in her high heels, dragging a
long cord after her. She waved him to a chair, then said
impatiently into the phone in French, "If you can't speak
Russian, speak German!" then shifted to English, nodding
and saying, "Yes, I know it's late. I said, I know it's late!
Um-hm, um-hm," and at one point letting go of the re-
ceiver and dragging it by its cord she paced the floor, roll-
ing her eyes and sighing with impatience.
Dade wondered if it was a bill collector. Miriam had
told him that Nettie was always in debt. Five years before,
when Miriam had first bought into the gallery, she had
learned about Nettie's extravagance. Nettie had had the flu
and Miriam, alone in the gallery, had been forced to go
through Nettie's personal papers to look for an important
bill of lading and had found a huge sheaf of unpaid per-

sonal bills and letters from collection agencies.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Miriam had asked her after-
ward.
Nettie had shrugged, taking the whole stack of bills and
throwing them out. "Don't think about it."
"You have to think about it!" Miriam had said.
"One little pile goes down, another little pile goes up."
Nettie was French but had been educated in England.
Her speech was British but with a faint nasal French in-
tonation. Her family had been well-to-do. Her mother had
studied at the Sorbonne and played tennis at Wimbledon.
"She used to play with the King of Sweden," Nettie once
said. "God, he was awful. Ninety or something, blind as a
128 Murder Mystery
bat and he cheated. Mother was always yelling, 'Go to the
net, Majesty!' to get him out of the way."
Now, still on the phone, she was obviously at her wit's
end. "My name is Proulx!" she cried out. "Proulx, like
youl . . Yes, but just forget the last two letters.
. late My
husband's family stopped pronouncing them five hundred
years ago, probably because they couldn't read . . . Yes,
yes, all right." She hung up, sighing.
"Well! Now, what is all this about Rachel?" He told her.
She was shocked. "My God! And that Nick Levin, he
wasn't there to protect her?"
"No."
"Pity. Wait till you meet him."
"I already have."
"Doesn't he just make your mouth water? No, I suppose
he wouldn't. But seeing him makes me long to be a Ro-
man empress with slaves. Oh God, the things I will go to
my grave having left undone!"
"
"I'd sure like to know where he gets his money.
"Commodities."
"You have to ante up to get into the game. He's only
been in the country about a year and he's been out here less
than six months. Who staked him?"
"Oh, I see what you mean. You should have asked him.
He's very open about it. It's a funny story. He and his
mother arrived here from Russia with nothing. She had a
brother somewhere in the East who had sponsored them
but he wouldn't help, so they lived in two awful rooms
and he worked washing dishes. She spent all her time lying
on a sofa in her stocking feet reading Pushkin and
Chekhov and playing the numbers! Really! She had once
had a dream that saved their lives, and somehow she be-
came convinced that the right number would appear in a
dream and make their fortune.
"Every morning, before she served Nick breakfast, sh
used to make him tell her everything he had dreamed, t
see if she could read meaning into it. She was like a kab-
I
balist, reducing everything to numbers. Then all day long,
while Nick washed dishes, she used to take little cat naps,
to see if she could dream their way out of troubles. Then
she got very sick and went to the hospital. She was dying.
 "

Murder Mystery 129

She made him place one last bet. The next day, he got
home from work and a neighbor woman told him she had
bad news, that he must be brave. He said she imitated
— —
him 'Is my mother?' Well, it was his uncle. He had died
suddenly. That meant they got the insurance. Nick went
straight to the hospital. His mother was barely conscious.
He told her they had just gotten a hundred thousand dol-
lars. She said, 'My number, moychickT He told her yes.
She died that night with a smile on her face. That's how
he started, Dade. There isn't any mystery to it at all."
"Urn."
"What does W mean?"
"Right now, it just means *um.'
"What a beautyl I've only seen one other such specimen
in a lifetime. During the war, I was in the Resistance with
him. We all knew what they would do to us if we were
caught, and we used to take turns holding each other's
heads under water and so forth, practicing to see how long
we could hold out. You see, if you got caught and you
could hold out just a little while, it would give the others a
chance to get away. I used to have fantasies of dying un-
der torture for Michel. He wanted to make love to me but
I wouldn't let him. He was married. Well, when you're
young, you can't help making mistakes." She sighed. "At
least Rachel's all right I suppose, as usual, they haven't
got a clue as to who broke in."
"No, but it's pretty clear what they were looking for.
Same thing they were looking for when they broke into
this place. That Giulio Romano."
"That painting? Why that? Considering what Jensen has
in his collection, that particular canvas just isn't worth that
much."
somebody. It was to Miriam. I think she was
"It is to
taking with her the night she was killed. In fact, Nettie,
it

she may have been murdered for it." She gasped. Her
hands flew to her mouth. "By the way, you neglected to
tell me that she bought that painting from her first hus-
band." He studied her.
She made a little moue of disapproval. "Oh, so you
know about that. A dreadful man!"
130 Murder Mystery
"I don't know about it at all. Never heard Miriam men-
tion him."
"She married him when she was an art student in Flor-
ence and he was a poet there on a Fulbright. On their
wedding night he took her to this apartment in a place like
a slum, very noisy, with everybody around them screaming
and fighting all the time and everybody's radio playing
music full blast and then, once they were alone together,
he went a little crazy. She didn't know him anymore. He
did awful things to her, awful things, they were revolting,
they were degrading and there was simply no end to it
"When he went out the next day, he locked her in the
room. She screamed and pounded but nobody in that
neighborhood thought anything of it. He was very strong
and she was helpless against him. She wanted to kill him.
He must have known what her reaction would be because
everything she could have used as a weapon had been
taken out of the apartment. He raped her for a week. It was
a nightmare. She thought she would lose her mind. The
apartment was on the fourth floor and there were times
when she thought of throwing herself out the window. The
worst of it was that he made her feel a hatred she had
never felt. She loathed him.
"At the end of that time, he sort of came to his senses.
He offered her the money for a divorce. Oh, she wanted a
divorce, all right, but she wanted to tell everybody what he
had done. She wanted him put in jail. He knew what she
was thinking and told her that in Italy her words wouldn't
mean anything. She was legally his wife and there were no
witnesses and, not only that, she couldn't even get a di-
vorce there. The money he offered her was to fly home
and divorce him in Las Vegas. Five hundred and twenty-
eight dollars. That was the cost of the fare. She didn't see
him again until he walked into the gallery with that
painting. She told me she didn't even recognize him.
That's all I know about him. Horrid man!"
Dade turned away from her, leaning on the back of a
tall carved chair, and thought for several moments. He
combed his fingers through his bushy white hair and then
said with disgust, "Every time I ask a question about that
painting, all hell breaks loose." He shook his hand at her
 Murder Mystery 131

like an Italian in the midst of a street argument and said,

**Nettie, listen here, you told me a lie."
"I — what?" She was taken aback. Recovering herself,
I
she said, "Perhaps you ought to tell me what it was."
"You said you called Rachel at eight in the morning, af-
ter you heard on the radio about what happened."
"Well?"
on the radio then."
*Tt wasn't
"Of course it was!"
"Just the announcement. No names. They didn't release
the names until ten after nine. J know that because I'm the
reason."
Her expression did not change. She looked at him lev-
elly and said, "All right I heard it on the radio after I
talked to Rachel."
"How did you find out Miriam was dead, Nettie?"
"I don't want you to ask me."
"Somebody will and you don't want to be accused of
withholding evidence," Dade said. "I think you'd better
tell me."
"Gil told me. Oh, Dade, they were going away together
the next day. She was leaving Jensen. I knew all about it.
Miriam had confided in me. Gil called me at eight in the
morning. He was desperate. He said, 'She's dead, Nettie!
She's dead! It's on the radio! She's dead, my God, she's
dead!' That was all he said. But I couldn't tell you I'd
heard it from him because now that she's gone, nobody
needs to know they were going away."
"This was eight the next morning?"
"A little before then."
"And he said he'd heard it on the radio? Well, I say he
didn't. How do you suppose he found out?"
"I have no idea."
"Then I'll have to ask him."

••He'll know I told you."

Maybe you can help
"I've got another question for him.
me out with this one. What did he know about that miss-
ing painting?"
"Well, she was working on it, cleaning it for a month.
What else is there to know? Oh, Dade, think of what he's

feeling. That poor man! All I'm trying to do is protect

132 Murder Mystery
him. That's why I wouldn't give his address to that dread-
fulMonkhaus."
"What are you talking about?"
"He's called me three or four times, trying to find the
painting . . . Well, I'm not being entirely fair in putting it
that way. I told him I'd make inquiries and to call me
back. He called just before you did this morning, as a
matter of fact He asked me who that man was at the fu-
neral
— 'that man named
He'd seen him there. Gil and
Gil.'
Miriam used to meet up in my apartment He must have
known they were lovers. You only had to see them to-
gether once to figure that out Well, I pretended I didn't
know what he was talking about I don't want him hound-
ing Gil at a time like this. There's nothing to worry
about. There must have been two hundred people at the
funeral. All he ever heard was Gil's first name. There's no
way he can find out any more."
"Oh yes there is. They keep a funeral book at the ceme-
tery. If Gil signed it, it won't take Monkhaus any time at
alL" Dade strode to the phone on her desk, muttered a re-
quest for permission and punched out a number. Then:
"Chloe? That you? . . . This here's Dade Cooley." He lis-
tened for a moment His expression changed. "Chloe?
Chloe, what happened?" A
shocked look came over his
face. Then he said, "I'll be right there."
Nettie took a step toward him. "What's the matter?
What happened?"
"There's been a shooting."
"My God!"
"Monkhaus went over there, all right"
"And shot him? Oh, my God!"
"No, it's way
around. Monkhaus, he's in the
the other
hospital. Critical. Gil well, it appears that right now
. . .

he's in custody. I better go look after Rachel. Now, if

you'll excuse me
—
" He went out, banging the door behind
him.
 "

XVIII

Dade drove through the gates of Bel Air and then turned
left up a narrow road lined with tall, dense
Bellagio,
hedges which screened the houses from view. Ahead, he
could see a squad car parked outside the Ransohoff house.
He turned left into the driveway. A patrolman waved him
to a stop. Dade handed him a card and said, "Lady in
there, she's expecting me. Miss Rachel Welles."
"Sony, sir. Nobody in or out."
"I'm her attorney. Now, you wouldn't deny me access
to my client?"
The patrolman hesitated, then waved him in. Dade rang
the bell.
Aneye appeared at the peephole and then the door was
flung open by Rachel. She grabbed his arm and pulled him
inside, saying, "Thank God it's you. I was afraid it might
be somebody from a newspaper." He remembered that she
had a fear of reporters. "I guess they haven't gotten the
story yet." She closed the door and led him across a foyer
toward a sitting room.
He said, "No reason they'll connect you with this, is

there?"
She looked him, puzzled. "But when they find out he
was her first husband
at
—
"You knew him?"
"No, but I recognized the name. She had told me about
him. And when the police asked me if I knew who he
was, I toldthem. Was that wrong?"
"No, of course not. You tell them anything else?"
"I don't know any more."
133
 "

134 Murder Mystery

"They didn't ask you what you thought he wanted?"
"Yes. But I don't know."
"Mr. Monkhaus is the one Miriam bought that Romano
from. He wants it back."
"Well, what made him think Gil had it?"She broke off.
"My God! You mean, he's the man who broke into the
house night? Of course!"
last
"You recognize him?"
"How could I? I told you, he had on that awful
mask —
"I meant, maybe recognized something about him."
"What?"
"What did you notice about Mr. Monkhaus today?"
"That way he walks."
"What about it?"
She thought for a moment, frowning, running a hand
through her thick red hair. Then she shook her head.
"Honestly, Dade, I'd have to say I don't know. It all hap-
pened so fast."
"All right, honey."
"Did you talk to Nick, Dade?"
"He came by this morning. He's just fine."
"Can I call him now?"
"Just be patient with me a little while longer. I don't
want you calling anybody till I say so. The next thing is to
get you out of here. You got anybody you can stay with?
Someplace out of town, say, where you're not known?"
"Let's see ." She put her hands in the back pockets
. .

of her jeans and stared up at the ceiling. Then she

brightened and said, "Aunt Julia!"
'Thought your daddy was your only relative."
"Oh, she's not my aunt. I just call her that. She taught
me English at Lone Mountain. We got to be friends. She's
retired now and always asking me to come visit her. She
lives in San Marino."
"You give her a call right now and tell her you're com-
ing. And don't tell anybody else."
"All right." She started toward the phone. Hesitating,
she asked with an attempt at offhandedness, "Have you
talked to my father?"
"Just a little while ago."
 "

Murder Mystery 135

"Does he know about last night?"

"Yes, he heard about it."
She stood there, looking at her hands. Then she asked in
a low voice, "Did he ask about me?"
"I told him you were fine."
She met his eyes. "Did he ask?"
"Rachel,
of losing his wife
when
— man has
a just gone through the shock

"He doesn't care about me."

"Rachel—"
"He never has."
"If it's Nick you're thinking about, understand that your
father's just trying to protect you."
"Trying to protect me! He's trying to own me! That's
how he is! I'm not his daughter, I'm part of his collection!
I can't stand it! Nobody can! That's why Miriam was leav-
ing him. He drove her to it. Now he's done the same thing
to me!"
"What say you make phone call, Rachel?"
that
"Wait. I wasn't thinking, Dade, I can't leave Chloe
alone."
want you out of here. Now, I mean it."
"I
"Well, Nettie just called to find out what was going on.
She offered to come and stay here, so I'll just ask her to
take my place."
"Don't do that." He had spoken more sharply than he
had intended. "Let's find out how soon Gil will be back
first."
"All right."
"Right now, I'd like to talk to Chloe.*
"Wait a minute." She started up the stairs, then paused,
turning, and said timidly, "You didn't say whether you
liked him. Nick, I mean."
"The important thing is whether you do."
"I love him." She went up the stairs, then came down
right away, leading Dade into the sitting room. "She's very
upset. She's pretending not to be but I can tell. She'll be
down in a moment."
After a few minutes, the door opened and Chloe came
into the room and held out a hand. "Hello, Dade," she
said.
 "

136 Murder Mystery

Rachel gave Chloe a quick kiss of reassurance and then
went out and closed the door.
Chloe said, with a glance at the ceiling, "They're still up
there. How long can they go on dusting everything for fin-
gerprints and photographing? It's ridiculous. He already
told them exactly what happened." She gestured at an
armchair, making herself comfortable on a little sofa.
Dade sat. She seemed absorbed in studying the polish on
her fingernails. He remembered Miriam saying that Chloe
was an extremely shrewd woman. ("She watches people as
avidly as some men watch the stock market but she is very
careful never to be caught at it.") And then that cascade
of laughter, like a brook in spring.
Chloe said, "They just said they wanted to ask him
some questions, and he's been gone for ages." She glanced
at her watch and said impatiently, "Look, I really have to
know what's going on. We're going out tonight and if this
is going to drag on much longer
—
"Who's his attorney?"
"A man named Postel."
"Willy Postel?"
"Yes."
"You call him?"
"Gil asked me to. They said they'd get back to me, but
I'm still waiting."
"Well, it's Saturday and he may be out of town."

"Oh, my heavens, I can't just let Gil sit there!"

"Look, I know Willy. You want me to go down and
bring Gil back?"
"Can you do that?"
"I can try. But first you have to tell me what hap-
pened?"
"Rachel let him in. She'd been waiting all morning to
hear from Nick. God, isn't he gorgeousl Knowing Miriam,
I'm surprised she kept her sticky fingers off him. Or did
she?" Chloe gave him an unpleasant smile. "Well, anyway,
here it was lunchtime and she hadn't heard. Every time
the phone rang, she jumped up, thinking it was for her.
And then she heard the doorbell and ran into the hall
from the kitchen to answer it, I heard voices, then I
heard the door close and Rachel came back into the
 Murder Mystery 137

—
kitchen we were both getting lunch together and she —
said, 'There's somebody here to see Gil.' I asked who it
was and she said his name was Monkhaus."
"Did you know who he was?"
"Not then. Rachel told me afterward. When I went up-
stairs and told Gil, Gil was very upset and asked if I'd said
he was there. Then he said, 'I don't care what you told him,
just get rid of him.' Then
heard this sound, kind of like a
I
thumping and I turned around and there he was, coming
up the stairs with this strange walk, like an automaton,
with a kind of inhuman expression on his face. He scared
me to death. Gil said something like 'It's all right, I'll see
him,' and took him into the study and closed the door. I
heard the lock click. We have these old-fashioned French
door handles with keys and keyholes, so when someone
locks a door, you can hear it quite plainly. I could hear
voices raised. They were arguing. I told all this to the po-
lice."
"What did they say? Your husband and Mr. Monk-
haus."
"I couldn't understand them. Then Rachel called me
and I was just about to go downstairs when it happened."
"You say you told this to the police?"
"Yes."
"They believe you?"
"Why shouldn't they?"
"I don't."
"What do you mean?"
"You were eavesdropping, you could hear the key turn
in the lock, you told me were raised I don't
their voices —
believe you couldn't understand what they said and the po-
lice won't either. You can lie to them but don't lie to me.
And if you want to help your husband, I wouldn't lie to
them either, if I were you. See, if they catch you in a lie,
they won't tell you about it. They'll just let you dig a
deeper and deeper hole."
She blinked back tears, then looked at him, eyes wide
with fear. "They were talking about Miriam. I didn't tell
the police that part. And they're not in my head. How
would they know whether I heard her name?"
"What else did you hear?"
138 Murder Mystery
"It brief. The Monkhaus man was hard to un-
was very
derstand. He
has this high angry voice and all I really
remember hearing is, 'You have it and I want it.' I heard
Gil say, 'I don't even know what you're talking about. I
had nothing to do with her affairs.' Then Gil's voice
changed and I heard him say, 'Oh, Jesus!' Just then Rachel
called me. I ran to the top of the stairs and signaled her to
be quiet. I could hear shouting and scuffling and some
crashing noises. I tried to get in. I couldn't. I banged on
the door and called Gil's name. I was just going to run
into the bedroom and call the police when I heard this
loud popping sound. I thought, That was a gun!
"Then the door banged open and Gil yelled out, 'Quick,
get the paramedics!' I could see the Monkhaus man lying
on the floor and this blood was just pouring out of him, I
never saw anyone bleed like that, just gushing out, and Gil
was pulling off his own shirt and ripping it up to make a
tourniquet and he looked up at me and yelled out, 'Will
you call the goddamn paramedics?' and I did."
"What kind of a gun was it?"
"I don't know."
"What size?"
"A kind of big gun. Like this." She described the shape
with her hands.
"A forty-five?"
"Yes. Yes, I heard one of the officers say that. You
could ask them, of course. I think it was a forty-five." Her
voice was low with a note of desperation now. "Why
won't they let me go down and see him?"
"They won't until after they've questioned him.**
"What for? It was self-defense!"
"Monkhaus say anything that you heard? After the
shooting?"
"No."
"Was he conscious when the paramedics came?"
"No."
"Then they've only got your husband's word for it that
it was self-defense."
"My God, the man practically forced his way into our
house!"
"I understand that."
 Murder Mystery 139
"And he had a gun!"
"Did you see it?"
"Of course not. If I'd seen it, I wouldn't have let him
in."
"Could have been your husband's."
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"Your husband own a gun?"
"No! That is, he has a rifle. But it isn't here, it's up at
the cabin. He doesn't own
a gun."
"Most doctors own
guns. Self-protection. Usually
they've got drugs in the house. Or so people think. Maybe
he owns one and he hasn't told you."
"Why are you talking to me like this?"
"I'm trying to help you. You don't want to go on record
as saying something you'll have to take back. See, they
might just not think it was self-defense. Be a nice way to
kill somebody, wouldn't it? Trick him into forcing his way
into your house, making him think you had something he
really wanted, then locking the door, yelling, struggling,
scuffing, finally shooting him with an unregistered gun.
Air-tight."
She looked at him with absolute horror, then let out a
whimpering sound. Dade gripped her shoulders hard. He
said harshly, "Right now, I may be the best help you've
got, now you listen to me." Chloe fell back on the pillows
of the sofa sobbing hysterically. Gradually, the sobbing
subsided. She began adjusting her lacquered gold hair.
Dade said, "You don't think it was just a straightfor-
ward case of self-defense. If you did, you wouldn't be up-
set,you'd be mad as hell, calling every influential friend
you've got. But from what you say, the only person you've
called is Willy Postel. That's because something's got you
mighty scared. I can help you, but only if you tell me
the truth."
She calmed down then. Her mouth grew hard. "I don't
think Til say any more just now."
"Where was your husband the night Miriam was
killed?"
"He was home here with me." Her voice was a whisper.
"If you lie to me, I can't help you."
140 Murder Mystery
She searched Dade's face and asked in a ragged voice,
"How much do you know?"
"I know they were lovers. I know they were going to go
off together."
She got to her feet,walked over to the mantlepiece and
helped herself to a cigarette from a cloisonne box. Keeping
her back turned to him, she began speaking. "That was
over a month ago. Jensen found out. He came to see me
and told me what was going on. I can't tell you what that
did to me. It was odd, really. Here we both were, eaten up
with jealousy, but our reactions were so different. I went
to pieces inside but Jensen was all cold logic He told me
Miriam wouldn't have a cent to her name if she left him,
explained why and asked if Gil knew. I was sure he
didn't" She lit her cigarette, then turned to face him. 'That
night, I confronted Gil. He was furious. Made all sorts of
excuses, that he couldn't help himself, that they loved each
other and that nothing else mattered. Well, I know him
better than she did. When it comes to money, it matters
plenty to Gil. He loves it, he needs it and can't live with-
out it. He's in debt, you know. Deeply in debt. He never
worried about it because I have money and he knows I'll
always bail him out."
She lowered her voice, moving toward him. "Well, he
thought Miriam had money too. What he didn't know
was that Miriam had signed a prenuptial agreement say-
ing that if she ever left Jensen, she wouldn't get one red
cent. I realized, from the way he talked, that she had
never told him. She'd never bothered to bring it up and I
guess he would have thought it poor taste to ask. That
meant I had to be the one to tell him, which is exactly
why Jensen had come to me. I told him, all right. Well,
he'd been living in a fool's paradise and this came as one
hell of a shock."
Angrily she stubbed out the cigarette. "Oh, he tried to
pretend that it didn't matter but I knew better. I didn't
think there was anything left of our marriage. Then, from
one day to the next, Gil changed completely." She went
back to the sofa and sat down again. "He said he didn't
know what had happened to him, that it had been just an
infatuation, nothing more. He begged my forgiveness, tell-
 Murder Mystery 141

ing me it wasThe crazy thing was, I believed him. I

over.
never found out whether she knew I knew. I had to act as
if nothing had happened. She was busy. There wasn't
much chance for just the two of us to be together. That
was a relief. Gil was his old self again. He was happy. We
were happy together. I thought I had won."
She rubbed lightly at her eyes, conscious that the mas-
cara was smudged. She took a compact and a handker-
chief from her pocket and turning away, began repairing
the ravages of tears with a swift, skillful hand. Putting her
compact away, she said in a matter-of-fact voice, "Then
she telephoned here that night, the night she was killed.
She hadn't done that for a month."
"When?"
"I—I'mnot sure."
"Before dinner or afterward?"
"Afterward. We have dinner at seven. Gil always likes
to watch the news. Let's see —
what night was it? Tuesday.
Of course. Well, there's a program I like to watch on
Tuesday so he left the room
at seven-thirty. Gil hates it,

after dinner. When it was went into the living

over, I
room to get something. Gil was upstairs. The phone rang
then. I remember now. It was eight o'clock. Or just after
eight. Minutes after."
"How did you know it was Miriam? Did she talk to
you?"
Chloe shook her head. "I happened to pick up the ex-
tension at the same time Gil answered the phone. I'm sure
they didn't know I was listening. She said, 'He's found out
It has to be tonight.' Gil started to say something and she
interrupted him, saying, 'No, it has to be tonight. Right
away.' Then she hung up. I heard him hang up.
"I put down the phone absolutely shaken. I felt oh, I —
don't know what I felt. I felt as if my knees were going to
give way. I felt like a fool. I thought I was going to faint. I
don't know how pulled myself together. I listened at the
I
door. I could hear him going very quietly down the back
stairs. He was going to the garage. I went to the window
and watched him drive away in the storm."
"Then what did you do?"
"I don't know. Nothing. That isn't true. I got out a
 "

142 Murder Mystery

bottle of Seconal. I was going to take the whole thing. I
just wanted to die. You know what stopped me? He would
have inherited my money. I was damn sure Miriam
wouldn't get a cent from Jensen! I don't know what I did.
I got into my nightgown and had a couple of drinks. I've
never felt at such a loss in my life. It was cold. I put a fur
coat on over my nightgown and watched game shows and
old movies for four hours. Then I saw the lights of a car
coming up the drive. I jumped up, thinking there'd been
an accident and they were coming to tell me and then,
when I looked out the window, I saw it was Gil, so I ran
upstairs, got in bed in the dark and pretended to be asleep.
"He came in, turned on the light, then, I suppose think-
ing I was asleep, he turned it off again, got undressed and
got into bed. The next morning, I got up quite early but
he had already left for the office. I found out she was dead
when somebody called me. It was on the news. I called
him at the office to tell him. He said yes, that he'd heard.
We didn't say any more than that."
"You were afraid your husband killed her, is that it?"
She wouldn't answer. "Let me tell you the law, all right?
A wife is free to testify against her husband but she can't
be forced to. But when the sky starts falling and you re-
fuse to answer somebody's questions, it's going to seem
like you have something to hide. You can see that, can't
you?"
"But if I just tell them I went to bed, that I don't know
anything
—
"Talk to your husband. Then the two of you sit down
with Willy Postel."
"How could he be guilty? What reason would he have?"
"You talk to your husband, hear? Now, you dry your
eyes and I'll go downtown and try to bring him home."
 XIX

Because Bel Air is under the jurisdiction of the city of Los

Angeles, Gil had been taken downtown to be questioned.
Dade drove to the city offices and made his way to a
crowded, noisy waiting room at police headquarters. There
were two people ahead of him at the counter, a fat woman
in a white cotton jacket with white cotton slacks and her
name printed on a bar pinned to her lapel and a thin man in
overalls. The fat woman said to him, slapping at a news-
paper she held in one hand, "There's this four-year-old kid
chews tobacco and spits it on the floor and you know what
his parents say? They think it's cute. You believe that?
Four years a
old, looks like old
little man and by God,
there he chewing and spitting all over the place. Says so
is,

right here in Dear Abby."

"I don't believe it," said the man.
"Would Dear Abby lie?" the woman demanded in a
loud voice.
"She makes those things up," the man said in an even
louder voice, addressing the whole room. "Four-year-old
kids don't chew tobacco. She made it up. She makes up all
that crap, right? Right!"
"She did not make it up!" the woman yelled.
"Let's hold it down," said the black sergeant at the desk.
"Let's all just hold it down, okay?" The sergeant, a heavy-
set man, looked up from a ledger in which he was writing
and said to Dade, "Yes, sir?"
Dade took a card from his wallet and handed it to the
sergeant. "I'm here to collect Dr. Ransohoff. His wife sent
me." Dade was taken down a hall to a guarded elevator.
143
144 Murder Mystery
The deputy who escorted him said, "They heen waiting
for you. They just brought him down." They got out of
the elevator and went down another corridor into an
oblong room containing only three straight chairs. Gil sat
in one, arms folded, an angry look on his face. Valdez was
standing in front of him. Straddling the chair opposite him
was a saturnine, sharp-featured plainclothesman.
Gil was saying, "I've told you everything I know back
at the house! For Christ's sake, I don't even know if the
poor bastard is still Can't you tell me that much?"
alive!
"We'd like you us why the victim came to see
to tell

you," the plainclothesman said.

"Don't ask me. Ask him. I get it. You can't ask him. He
has to be dead, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't be asking
me that Is he?" When they didn't answer, he said, "Don't
you have to tell me?"
"No, we don't," Valdez said softly.
Then, seeing Dade, Gil got up, surprised. Valdez turned
and stared at Dade, fists on his hips.
Dade said formally, "Your spouse, Mrs. Chloe Ran-
sohoff, sent me here. Do you desire representation, sir?"
"I told Chloe to call Postel two hours ago. What's going
on?" He looked around at the others. His face was hag-
gard.
"Your wife has not been able to reach Postel. Please an-
swer my question."
"Yes!"
"Do you desire me to represent you on a temporary
basis? I must point out to you that I also represent another
interest which may have some connection with this matter."
"Miriam's estate?" Gil seemed bewildered.
"Please answer the question."
"Yes." Gil met Dade's eyes, drawing himself up and
matching the formality of his tone.
"Good. Then I must inform you, gentlemen, that I in-
tend to be present during any and all sessions when my
client is questioned." He turned to Gil and added, "Now, I
don't want you to say one more word."
The plainclothesman got to his feet and looked at Dade
with surprise, then turned to Valdez, fuming with frustra-
tion.
 Murder Mystery 145

Dade said, "Release him or charge him. n

Valdez paced the floor, not answering. He jerked his
head at the plainclothesman, who went over to him. They
whispered together, staring at Gil from time to time. Fi-
nally Valdez said to the plainclothesman, "Okay, he can
go." They were escorted downstairs by Valdez, and Gil
was cautioned not to leave town.
In silence, Dade led the way to his car. Gil got into it.
Instead of taking him home, Dade drove him to the Grand
Central Market, a couple of blocks away. Gil looked at
him, not understanding.
"I want us to have a little chat. There'll be somebody
following us, so we'll just have us our chat out here, in the
open market. That way, they can't follow us too close.
You had lunch? I take it you haven't. Well, over here's a
place you're going to like. They make great gorditas"
Dade walked over to a counter and bought them each a
warm tortilla wrapped around roast pork, refried beans
and chopped tomato and lettuce. They strolled together
through me market It was an immense warehouse of a
building which ran all the way through to the next street,
with huge sliding doors wide open at either end. The floor
was lined with counters and aluminum-shaded lamps, such
as photographers use in studios, hung from long metal rods
the length of the building, illuminating all the displays of
food. A
row of white-aproned butchers were standing be-
hind cases filled with pork, lamb, mutton, beef, veal, poul-
try, and fish. Racks of fruits and vegetables were piled
high — fresh eggs, breads, cases full of grains and spices.
The signs were in both English and Spanish. It was four-
thirty and the stalls were closing up.
Gil said, "If for any reason I have to get in touch with
you, why don't you give me your address?" His speech
was New York but there was something under it, a shade
of care. He took out a pencil and a notebook and care-
fully wrote down Dade's name and his address in San
Francisco. Dade noticed the handwriting: small, erect, Eu-
ropean. Dade remembered that Gil had come from Ger-
many.
"You were born in Cologne, weren't you?"
"That's right"
146 Murder Mystery
"I know that town. You war?"
get out before the
"Just barely. My was a professor at the univer-
father
sity. One day, he was walking to campus and a friend
came up to him and said, 'Don't go to class. Go home and
get your family. Now.' I was just a little boy. We left in
the middle of lunch. We just got in the car and drove
away. We even left the laundry on the line. My mother
had to leave her fur coat because it was a hot day and it
would have looked funny to carry it. That coat would
have kept us for months. As it was, we had nothing."
"You came here?"
"First we went to Switzerland, then France. We hid out
there, in different places. Then after the war we came
here. You know what it's like to run? It gets so you can't
stop."
"That's not going to work this time, son."
"I beg your pardon?"
Their eyes met. There was silence. Then, as Gil put
away his notebook and pencil, Dade said, "I got you out
of there because I don't want you questioned until Postel
can be present."
•Thanks."
Dade "Now Td like a favor from you." Gil
grunted.
eyed him. "I represent Miriam's estate. I also happen to
represent Rachel, who has retained me to investigate
Miriam's death. That's just to get the lines clear for your
benefit. Now, I'd like to get your version of what hap-
pened. You were going away with Miriam. She called you
and said it had to be now, so you left your house that
night and went to meet her."
Gil said, "Chloe." The greenish eyes narrowed. not Tm
going to tell you anything!" Gil had finished his gordita
and hurled the paper into a packing crate full of garbage.
Dade walked very deliberately over to a stool at a refresh-
ment stand, gesturing for Gil to join him, and ordered him-
selfa glass of sweetened rice water called horchata. Dade
seated himself, looking up inquiringly at Gil, who was
standing in front of him, hands flat on the back of his
hips. "I want to go home to my wife," he said. "If you're
going that way, fine. Otherwise 111 call a cab."
*Take a seat."
 Murder Mystery 147

"I said—"
"Now."
"Do you understand what I'm saying? I want to go home.
I don't want to talk anymore, okay?"
"You know why I told you not to answer their questions
back inside there? Those fellas are investigating a mur-
der."
"He's dead? Oh, my God." Gil sat down slowly, dazed.
"I killed him? Itwas self-defense. I swear to God it was
self-defense. It was his gun. That's crazy. I didn't have any
motive for killing him!"
"That's one of the things I didn't want you to say.
'Cause it isn't true." Dade's eyes bored into Gil's. Gil re-
turned the look, expressionless, but a tremor passed over
his cheek. "Incidentally, I didn't mean Mr. Monkhaus. I
don't know anything about his condition. I meant
Miriam."
Gil's lips twitched. Abruptly, he turned away.
Dade said quietly, "They don't know that you went to
see her that night, but it's only a question of time before
they find out, just the way I did. At that point, you will
have two choices: Lie and look guilty or tell them the
truth and take your chances. Of course, you could always
just not say anything, but after a while that tends to make
a man look very bad. I don't know how much time you've
got before they come knocking at your door, but I just
thought you might like this opportunity to tell me your
story."
Dade took out his briar pipe, filled it and lit it, sitting
back and smoking contentedly, his arms resting on the
counter behind him, his ankles crossed.
Gil said nothing for a long time. Finally, without look-
ing at Dade, shoulders hunched, the surgeon's hands
clasped between his knees, he began speaking in a low
voice. "We were going away together. The next day. She
called me around eight, saying it had to be that night She
said, 'As soon as you can get here.' She sounded scared.
She was afraid of Jensen, and I figured that's what it was.
I said okay and cut out of there. We had where
this place
we were supposed to meet. In Malibu. I went there and
waited."
148 Murder Mystery
"What time did you get there? Got any idea?"
"Well, it's a good half-hour or more from Bel Air, and
that night in the rain it took longer. I got there and she
hadn't arrived. I looked at my watch and it was twenty
of nine and I thought, What's happened? because it's
only at the most fifteen minutes from the Welles house,
so I called and I got no answer. I figured she was on her
way and I went on waiting."
"How long?"
"More than two hours. I guessed that Jensen had
showed up or something. So I went home. The next morn-
ing, one of the girls in my office had the radio on and I
heard it on the news."
"Where was this place?"
"Jetty's."
"You go there often?"
"I've been there. You know."
"You think anybody there remembers you from that
night?"
"I don't know."
'Talk to anybody?"
"No. I don't think they'd remember me. That bar is
mobbed. Standing room only."
"And that's what you're going to tell the police?" Gil
nodded. Dade said, "My advice is, Don't You just told me
three lies in thirty seconds. They're not stupid. They'll
catch you same as I did. And they'll come to the same
conclusion I did. A
man who lies about something like
that has a lot to hide. You want to try me again?"
"You know what I think? You're trying to fake me
out"
"No need to. You called Nettie around eight in the
morning, saying you'd heard it on theradio. No, you
didn't"
"It was on the radio! I heard it!"
"There were no names. Not till ten after nine. When
you heard just the news bulletin on the radio, you
filled in the names. See, you already knew. Second point:
When a man spends two hours in a bar where he is
known, somebody remembers. My guess is, you said no-
body would because you weren't there."
 Murder Mystery 149

"Iwas there!"
"Not for two hours. Just long enough to make that
phone call. Oh, you made it, all right. You waited forty-
five seconds after the beep sounded, waited for her to pick
up the phone, afraid to say anything because your voice
would be recorded on the tape. At first, I couldn't figure
out what that long wait was for. That was before I knew
about you and Miriam. She was in trouble. You knew that
when she called you. When she wasn't at Jetty's and didn't
answer the phone, you knew something was wrong. And
you had to get up there and find out Now, when did you
really leave Jetty's?"
Gil flushed a dark, unhealthy red. Dade said quietly,
"Funny thing about murder. People love to find out who
done They won't rest till they do. Everybody's like that.
it.

This murder. And you've just made yourself a prime sus-

is

pect —by telling Nettie Miriam was dead before anyone

knew. It looks bad for you if you won't tell how you
found out. You see that, don't you?"
Gil took a long uneven breath. Then he said, "Okay, I
left Jetty's just before nine. See, I thought maybe she was
on her way, so I waited as long as it would take her to drive
there and then I left and drove up to the house to find out
what was going on."
"Arriving when?"
"Well, I guess about nine-fifteen. All I could think
about was that son of a bitch Jensen. He's a violent man.
For all I knew — well, anyway, the lights were on in the
house. It was raining parked near the gates but
like hell. I
I didn't ring the bell. Instead, I slogged my way down the
drive. I wanted to see if her car was there. Then I heard
what thought was a car coming. It was really pouring, so
I

I couldn't be sure. I stood to one side, waiting to see if it

was Miriam. No car came. I went on down the drive, try-
ing not to slip. It's steep and with that little mud slide
they'd had, it was very narrow.

"The car was in the garage. Just the one car. It was
Jensen's and the motor was running. I thought, Christ, it's
him, and I got out of the way but when the car didn't move,
I went closer and then I saw there was nobody in it and
150 Murder Mystery
when I went in the garage, I saw Miriam and she was dead.
I got the hell out of there. Fast."
"How long do you think you were there?"
"At the time it seemed like forever. Everything seemed
to be happening very slowly. But I remember when I got
back in the car I looked at the clock on the dash and it
was only nine-twenty and I thought, Maybe it'll be on the
news, and then I thought how crazy that was. Afterward, I
just drove around in that storm for hours, trying to think.
I didn't know what to do. Then I drove home."
"Of course, you examined her, to make sure she was
dead."
"I'm a doctor. Of course I looked at her. I went to her
and took her hand. She was dead. I knew that when I first
saw her. Nothing looks like death."
"Was her hand warm?"
"Yes."
"How long do you think she had been dead?"
"I don'tknow. Not long."
"And you looked in the car. For the painting."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm going to give you a moment to think that over.
Then Fm going to ask you again." Dade puffed on his
pipe, then sipped his milky rice drink, gazing into the
middle distance.
Gil dragged on his cigarette. Dade turned and faced
him, eyebrows raised inquiringly. Gil crushed out his ciga-
rette with his heel. Then he stood and thrust his hands
deep into his pockets and said, "I told Monkhaus. Now
I'm telling you. I don't know what the hell you're talking
about"
"Of course, if you had known about the painting, you v

might have gone barreling over there the minute she said
there was trouble. You might not have waited at Jetty's af-
ter making that call. And that would have gotten you
there just before nine."
"You are trying to fake me out!" A curved smile broke
across the lean face.
Dade from the bench. "Come on," he
got up slowly
you home."
said. "I'll drive
They rode back to Bel Air in silence. Dade noticed that
 Murder Mystery 151

the squad car was gone. Gil got out of the car, then
leaned down and asked, "Want to come in and have a
drink?"
Dade shook his head. "Thank you very much."
In the distance, Dade saw Rachel come out of the house
carrying a suitcase. Waving, she walked over to them.
"Hi, Rachel," Gil said.
"You all right, Gil?"
"Yeah."
"My God," she said. "I mean, my God!" She forced a
laugh. Gil ran a hand through the curly mop of her hair.
She started to pull away involuntarily, then caught herself.
Gil's eyes flickered. "Well, thanks," she said, "thanks for
everything." She touched Dade's hand and went to her
car.
Gil turned back to Dade. The goat's mouth curved into
a sudden smile. "Well, I want to thank you for your time."
"You'll get my bill. I have done you a valuable service. I
want you to go inside and start telephoning and don't stop
until you reach Don't talk to anybody else until
Postel.
you talk to him, or elseit's your neck. I give you fair

warning. Now, I want to tell you something about Postel.

Me, I would describe myself as likable. Easygoing. Mel-
low. All that sort of thing. Postel's first-rate but he's got a
short fuse. You lie to him like you just lied to me and he'll

walk off your case."

 " —

XX
It wasafter five. He stopped at a pay phone and called the
inn. When he heard Ellen's voice, he said, "Honey?"
"Who is this?"
"Honey, it's Dade."
"Dade who?"
"I know you hoped I'd get back earlier
n
"Three hours earlier!"
"And you've been worried. Oh, dear."
woman. When
"I haven't been worried. I'm not a stupid
I heard about the shooting on the radio, I called Chloe
Ransohoff. I've kept tabs on you all afternoon. The word
is angry. I am angry, Dade. Why didn't you call me?"

"But if you knew where I was

—
"You didn't know that!"
"All right, all right. Motke call yet?"
"No, but Rachel did. To say she'd gotten San Mari-
no."
"Good. She give you the number there?"
"I'd already gotten it from Chloe. Listen, I got what you
wanted from the Getty." He grunted an acknowledgment,
"When will I see you?"
"Soon, honey." After he put down the phone, he called
the U.S.C. Medical Center, found out Monk's condition
was stable and said in a quavering voice to a nurse, "I'm a
friend of the family and I worry so about that poor man
lying there all alone, with nobody as knows him to pray
for his suffering soul."
"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, sir. His wife
152
 Murder Mystery 153

has been here since just after they brought him in. Never
leaves his side.**
"Thank you very much." He drove down to the hospi-
tal, and took the elevator to the jail ward on the thirteenth
floor. There was a long corridor sealed with heavy wire
mesh and in the middle of the passageway was a barred
door. A police officer sat at a desk in front of it, two
phones at his elbow and a sign-in book with a pencil at-
tached to it by a string. He was overweight, with thin
wispy hair and heavy dark-rimmed glasses. He was read-
ing a paperback book with a nude couple on the cover. He
put the book in the open drawer in front of him, closing
it. He said to Dade, "May I help you, sir7"
Dade took out a card and handed it to him. "Would
you tell Mrs. Richard Monkhaus I'm here? I'd like to

take her to dinner."

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps and saw Tillie
coming down the hall. She wore a long coat and had a
scarf on her head. Dade went toward her. The officer un-
locked the door and she came out.
They rode down in silence. When they got out on the
main floor, she turned to him and said bitterly, "I don't
know what you want but I wish you would leave me
alone."
you to dinner. Didn't you get my message?"
"I invited
"So that you could ask me questions. I rode down with
you because I wanted to ask you to go away. Please. I
didn't want them overhearing us. Up there they listen to
everything, do you know that? They've even got a patient
in one of the beds who's a detective. I know. I was on the
stage for years and if there's one thing I always spot, it's
bad acting."
"How's your husband?"
'They just brought him out of recovery. He's sleeping
now. How would I know how he is? All they said is he's
stable."
"They don't have him in intensive care. That means
they expect him to recover with no trouble."
"Does it?"
"Did you tell them he has Parkinson's?"
"How could I? When I got here, he was in surgery. He
 —

154 Murder Mystery

was in there four hours. Afterward, the doctor didn't even
come to talk to me. Just the detectives."
"What did you tell them?"
"What could I tell them? I don't know anything. God,
they're so stupid! A man shoots him and they put him in
the jail ward! What I want to know is, where is that son of
a bitch who shot him? Do you know, they won't tell me a
goddamned thing?"
"Did they tell you your husband went to that house
with a gun?"
The wide were incredulous. "That's ridicu-
clear eyes
lous! Myhusband has never even handled a gun in his
life! Is that what they said? Tell me, is that what they

said? I have no idea whaf s going on! They kept asking me

questions but wouldn't tell me anything!"
Dade took her gentlyby the elbow, steering her toward
the elevator. "There's a cafeteria on the second floor," he
said. "I think it's time we got some food into you."
The cafeteria was crowded and noisy. They took their
trays to a table in a comer. Tillie sighed, poking at her
food.
"Come on, now, you eat."
She began spooning up the chicken soup Dade had in-
sisted on putting on her tray and then started on the stuffed
bell pepper. 'Thank you," she said, when she had finished.
"I enjoyed that." Then a troubled look came over her
face. She put a hand to her forehead. "I don't know what
to do," she said. "I don't know what's going to happen to
him." She looked at him, puzzled. "They can't believe he
went there with a gun."
Suddenly she looked appalled. "My God, you don't
mean they'd put him in jail? Oh, my God\ I just thought
he was in the jail ward because it was a shooting and
well, you know, protective custody and so forth and I
how could I have been so stupid? All those hours sitting
there and it never occurred to me. I kept trying to put the
whole thing out of my mind because I was so afraid he
would die. A priest came and talked to me. I'm not
Catholic but he was very kind and he made me talk about
other things, to get my mind off the waiting and not know-
ing, and I just didn't think —
!"
 Murder Mystery 155

"Don't go meeting trouble halfway. There might just be

something we can do."
"Are you saying you'll help me?"
"So long as you tell me the truth.'*
She nodded and sat very still for almost a minute. Tears
welled in her eyes. She wiped them away with her finger-
tips. When she spoke, her voice was low. "He did have a
gun. My God, I forgot about it!"
"What kind of gun?"
"A forty-five. He kept it on a shelf behind some books.
I saw it once when I was straightening up. It frightened
me. He said he'd gotten it because of all the break-ins
we've been having, because of the neighborhood. I'm
sorry, I just can't talk to you now. Please understand."
"Mrs. Monkhaus, listen to me. Now, I'm not trying to
frighten you but I think you ought to know something.
Your husband went to someone's house with a loaded gun
and threatened him. There was a struggle and your hus-
band ended up being shot himself. But under the law, do
you know what the district attorney can charge him with?
Attempted murder."
'That's crazy."
"But it's true. Now, Mrs. Monkhaus,
I'd hate to see a
thing like that happen. And
doesn't have to happen. See,
it

if he went there because he'd been driven half out of his

mind by what had been done to him and if you'd both co-
—
operate by telling the whole truth see, you didn't tell me
the truth when we talked —we both know that, don't
—
we? well, then, I can even believe that the district attor-
ney might not press charges against your husband. Cer-
tainly, I'd be glad to put in a good word."
She looked away, staring across the cafeteria at their re-
flection in a mirrored wall. She took out a cigarette, tamp-
ing it on a thumbnail. Dade struck a match and held it
for her. "All right. What do you want to know?"
"First, I'd like to know where that painting came from."
She dragged on her cigarette, as if, like the Pythian, she
needed to inhale fumes before speaking the truth. Then,
with a little shrug of surrender, she began to talk rapidly.

"Monk's father was a painter. Not a good painter. He was

a very good draftsman, a good technician. I don't know
156 Murder Mystery
when he he didn't really have any tal-
finally realized that
ent of his own. It must have been very painful. He ended
up working in museums, copying things. You've seen those
people with their little easels set up, painstakingly copying
the works of the masters? That's what he did for a living.
There's a market for it. God knows why. He made a little
money. Not much." She looked up and made a helpless
gesture with her hands. "I'm telling this badly."
"Just go on."
She sighed. "Then he got drafted. Monk was about fif-
teen, I guess. He worshiped his father. All he remembers
about the war is waiting for his daddy to come home.
Well, Monk's father finally got himself shipped home at
the end of 1945. The day he came home, he walked down
the block right past Monk. He didn't even recognize him.
A boy changes so much at that age. Monk ran after him
and when his father realized it was his son waving and
yelling, he turned around and ran toward him into the
street — just in time to be killed by a truck. Don't you love
the way they run the universe, Mr. Cooley?
"Anyway, I have a feeling that's what made him a poet
Lots of times, a poem is a cry of pain." She broke off,
fumbling in her purse for a handkerchief. As she took it
out, she caught sight of something, hesitated and then
abruptly pulled out a folded piece of yellowed paper and
handed it to Dade. "Here," she said. "I want you to see
something."
Dade opened up the paper. The words on it were writ-
ten in faded ink. He read:

O what black hours we have spent

This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me.

Dade looked up at Tillie. She reached out and took back

 Murder Mystery 157

the paper, carefully folding it up again and returning it

to her purse.
•That's how he used to sound," she said. "That's the
last thing he wrote. I just wanted you to know."
"Thank you."
"Well, anyway, Monk's mother died a few years later
and Monk worked his way through school. The one thing
he had that he'd gotten from his father was that painting.
You see, his father had brought it back from Europe. He'd
copied it there. Monk treasured it"
"I guess it was very beautiful."
"No. No, it wasn't I never said anything but I did study
art a little, once, before I went into acting, and I have to
tell you that it was a rather sloppy piece of work. But

Monk valued it. To tell you the truth, it was all we had
and we had to get money for the insurance premium."
"What insurance premium?"
"That's what all this is about That's what he's afraid of.
Preexisting conditions is the name of their game. He
found out he had Parkinson's a few months ago. He sus-
pected it, and we went down to Baja to a doctor to have
him examined so there wouldn't be any record for the in-
surance company to find. When we got back, he took out a
life-insurance policy. Fm
the beneficiary. Even if he dies
of Parkinson's, I get the money. Just so long as they don't
know he already had the disease. It's a preexisting condi-
tion all right, but afterward they can't tell how long you've
had and in five more months, the life insurance will
it,

cover him for everything, preexisting or not.

"All right, now you understand. He had to come up
with the first year's premium. It was something like five
hundred dollars. He went to Miriam with the painting to
beg for the money. She was the only person we knew who
could afford it. He hadn't seen her in eighteen years. He's
proud. He didn't want to ask for anything. He was pretend-
ing to drink, as usual, to cover up the signs. He said he
needed money for an operation. He needed it for me. For
life-insurance money, to live on after he's gone. And you
know what she said?" Here, Tillie stretched out her ex-
pressive hands, the tips of the fingers just touching Dade's
vest, the eyes at the same time imitating Miriam's and
158 Murder Mystery
managing to express her own incredulity, and said, '1*11
clean it for you as a favor. For old times' sake. It's the
least I can do.' It's the least she can do!"
Then, in a way that forcefully reminded him that she
had been on the stage, she yelled out in a terrible voice,
"It goddamn well was the least she could do!" She swal-
lowed, then said quietly, "Anyway, she changed her mind
and gave him a check. He had just asked her for five
hundred dollars but she was generous. She made it for five
hundred and twenty-eight and don't tell me you don't
know what that was for! It made him feel like shit. All
right, he was wrong. What he did was wrong. But that was
years ago and he's paid for it in more ways than I can tell
you.
"When he came back with that check in his pocket, he
wouldn't tell me anything at first, he just sat at the kitchen
table with his head in his hands. When I found out what
she'd done to him, I was just — well, it doesn't matter. I
went right out and borrowed money on the car, even
though I didn't have any idea how we'd pay it back. I
went home to him and told him what I'd done and I said,
'Go over there and get the painting back.' So he did, that
same afternoon."
"When was this?"
"A month ago. He returned the check and asked for the
painting. Well, then she told him some of the paint had
flaked off and she had seen what appeared to be something
underneath it. She said she had had it X-rayed that same
day and underneath there seemed to be another painting
exactly the same. She wanted his permission to strip it. She
thought the painting underneath was a Giulio Romano, a
painting Vasari mentioned that hasn't been seen for four
hundred years.
"Somehow, Monk's father had found it, knew what it
was and painted over it so it would look amateurish and
he could smuggle it out of Europe. She said it had to be
kept quiet, that the smuggling could cause trouble. If the
authorities found out about it, they would confiscate it.
That scared Monk. And it was a risk. If she was mistaken,
that is, after she stripped it, if she found that the painting
underneath wasn't a Romano after all, that it was just an
 " a

Murder Mystery 159

earlier attempt by Monk's father, then he would get noth-

ing. But she couldn't be sure about it without seeing it.

"Well, meant destroying his father's painting, which

it

cost him plenty, but Miriam Welles said if it was a Ro-

mano, it was worth thirty-five thousand dollars. He said
okay, that he was willing to gamble. That was how it
started. The excitement brought on one of his spells —
—
very bad one and I had him in bed nursing him for a
month. Then, the day he was better, Miriam called. This
was last Monday, the day before she was killed. He went
over there. She said it was the missing Romano all right
and gave him a check for thirty-five thousand dollars. I
can't tell you how happy we were.
"But Monk couldn't leave well enough alone. Maybe it's
that he can't work anymore and didn't have anything else
to think about, but he just had to know all about that
painting. So he went downtown to the main library and
went through all of Vasari and then some other books on
Romano himself. No such painting is ever mentioned and
there is no Giulio Romano missing." She gave him a level
look. "He knew Miriam and he knew she wouldn't give
him thirty-five thousand dollars for a nonexistent Romano.
It had to be something much more valuable. He wanted it

back."
"So he telephoned her," Dade said.
"He may have tried to —
"He called her on the house phone. On that number
they have listed in the book."
"You would have to ask him."
"And threatened her."
"That isn't true!"

"I think it is. That's why she was running away. She
was running from him."
"I think this has gone far enough
—
" She started to get
to her feet. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. She sank
back in her chair.
"See, just a little while before she was killed, a witness
heard Miriam Welles say on the phone, 'He's found out.'
This witness thought Miriam meant Jensen but you and I,
we know better, don't we, Mrs. Monkhaus?"
160 Murder Mystery
"I don't know what you're talking about." She had
recovered herself.
"The sheriff doesn't know this yet but there's a witness
saw your husband's car out in front of the Welles place
just about the time she was killed."
She burst out laughing. He looked at her, surprised.
She said, "That is something! That is really something!
Welles told you he saw my husband there that night!" Her
voice became harsh. "Welles has never laid eyes on my
husband in his whole life! / told Welles that my husband
saw him\ Oh, yes, Monk would recognize Jensen
—
Welles anybody would who ever reads a newspaper but —
don't tell me Welles recognized Monk! My God, did he
really tell you that?"
Suddenly, Dade understood what she was saying. He
spoke casually. "And that's what you threatened Welles
with today — that you'd go to the sheriff with that informa-
tion if he didn't give you back the painting?"
"Yes."
"Weren't you taking a risk?"
"Why? You mean that Welles could threaten Monk with
the same thing? Oh, no, he couldn't. Monk could testify
that he recognized Welles but Welles could never claim that
he recognized Monk. No, no, I don't think so."
"Mrs. Monkhaus, I think I should tell you that the
witness who placed your husband at the Welles house is
someone else."
Her composure deserted her. She looked around as if
for a way of escaping. She began stroking her neck and
her cheeks, like a mother trying to comfort a frightened
child. When she spoke, her voice was frayed. "All right, so
they're going to find out."
"What time was this?"
M
know."
I don't
'The witness saw your husband's car parked in front of
the Welles house at ten after nine, well within the period
during which the coroner says Mrs. Welles was killed."
"Monk was only there for a few minutes! When he
found her dead, he left as fast as he could."
"So you're saying he arrived when?"
"I can't believe that more than five minutes went by be-
 Murder Mystery 161

tween the time he arrived and the time he left. When he

got home, he was in a terrible state of shock and he said
he had just driven there, found her dead and left."
'That means he couldn't have arrived there any earlier
than five after nine, and possibly later."
"Yes, yes, I guess so."
"It was pouring rain, it was dark, he was distressed and
with good reason and yet you tell me he instantly recog-
nized a man in a passing car he'd never seen in person?"
"Oh, not at first. He thought it was Miriam."
"Why?"
"Well, it was her car coming out of the drive."
"And he recognized her car?"
"Well, she has her initials on the licence plate and he'd
seen it parked in the courtyard at the gallery."
"And when you went to Welles with this information to-
day, what did he say?"
"He was frightened enough so that I was sure if he'd
had the painting, he would have given it to me. That's
what made Monk think that the person who had it wasn't
Welles but Ransohoff ." She got up suddenly. "I have to go
back to him."
Dade escorted her up to the thirteenth floor. He asked,
"You got a lawyer?"
"Why—no."
"Get one. And tell him the truth. One of the things he's
going to want to know is where you were that night."
The barred door closed on her. She stood there for a
moment, looking out at him as if from out of a cell, then
turned and walked away.
 XXI

In the lobby of the hospital, Dade called the Welles house

and got Jensen. "It's kind of important that we have a
talk," Dade said. "You going to be there in about forty-
five minutes, say?"
"Is it about Rachel?"
"No, it isn't, Jensen."
"You know where she is?" When Dade did not answer
immediately, Jensen said, "I tried her at the apartment but
there was no answer. She's off somewhere with that fortune
hunter, isn't she?"
"No, she isn't. That much I can tell you. It won't take
long but we have to talk."
"All right. I'll be here."
"I'll see you, then."
Dade turned into the Welles driveway at eight o'clock.
He could hear the pounding of a high surf. The dogs gone,
the grounds were utterly silent. In their place, a bright
floodlighton the top of a gatepost glared down like the
eye of a Cyclops at approaching strangers. He rang the
bell. Jensen's voice came on the speaker, saying, "Dade?"
"It's me."
The swung open and Dade eased the car up the
gates
drive. Itwas a warm, windy night. The scent of acacia
and jasmine was heavy in the garden. The wings of a great
horned owl fanned the air. It gave a deep hollow hoot.
Jensen let Dade in, waving him toward the library
and saying, "Maid's got the night off and I'm on the
phone. Help yourself to a drink."
Dade nodded and went into the library. The big easel
162
 Murder Mystery 163

and the standing adjustable spotlight had been put away,

in the lock room, he guessed, which was closed now. He
looked up at the coffered ceiling, then walked around, ex-
amining the painting. In a moment, Jensen came into the
room. Dade said, "I got something to say to you."
"Yes. Well, all right, come and sit down." Jensen gestured
at a pair of tufted red-leather English club chairs by the
fireplace. They sat down together. Jensen said abruptly,
'That young man is no good. He wants her money but
that's all he wants. I've tried to tell that to Rachel but she
won't listen. Well, she's going to find out. The Greeks say
the truth is from the beginning." He let the ash from
there
his cigar fall into a round glass ashtray on the butler's
table between them. Dade said nothing. "That was the
sheriff on the phone, by the way. He wants to have a talk
with me. At my convenience." He tilted his head back and
emitted a high, humorless cackle.
"I would try to fit him in."
Jensen's face reddened with anger. He had the kind of
skin which flushed easily. Dade
studied him, remembering
that he had once seen Jensen at the club naked in the
sauna and that he looked exactly like a forked radish. Jen-
sen looked up as if searching for words in the smoke, the
long thin nose lifted and moved this way and that, finally
jabbing toward Dade, as if trying to impale him like a
what do you want?"
shrike. "Well,
"I was expecting that call from the sheriff. You told
them you drove straight downtown to your office the night
Miriam was killed. But you didn't. You came back to this
house first Why?"
"You've been listening to that Monkhaus woman!"
"Who by now has probably told her story to the sheriff.**
"'Story* is exactly the word!" Jensen quivered with
outrage. "Ballinger tells me Mr. Monkhaus hasn't regained
consciousness yet and may not. If she got up in court and
tried to repeat it, Ballinger says it would be nothing but
—
hearsay and as such, inadmissible!"
"If push comes to shove, such a statement would be ad-
missible over objection. There are some subtle and rather
serious exceptions to the hearsay rule. Didn't Ballinger tell
you that?" Jensen was shaken. Dade gave him a moment
164 Murder Mystery
to recover and then asked softly, "Why did you return
here that night, before driving into town?"
'To get my own car."
"But you didn't"
"No."
" 'Cause if you had, Miriam couldn't have been killed
by it. Unless, of course, she was already dead, in which
case—"
"She wasn't dead!"
"How do you know that?"
"I —I talked to her." Jensen's eyes held little sparks of
fear in them.
'Then she was still alive?"
"Of course she was!"
"There was a terrible storm that night Yet you drove
all the way back on a dangerous highway, adding maybe

half an hour to your trip, just to change cars? Something,

incidentally, you ended up not doing? Now, I'm going to
ask you again why you came back here."
Jensen expelled the air from his lungs slowly. "For my
code key. I forgot it."
"You better explain that"
"I had to telex Zurich from my office. There's a computer
there with my You
can't get into it without a
affairs in it
code key. It's a sequence of numbers. Fm very careful
with it. I would never leave it in the office. I keep it
locked in the desk in my bedroom. I forgot to bring it It
was all that confusion about the cars and the storm."
"Since you were here, why didn't you switch cars?"
"Because I had to reach Zurich at a certain hour!" he
exclaimed impatiently. 'Time was running out! I didn't
want to go down that steep driveway to the garage. I just
drove through the electric gates to the front door and went
inside and upstairs to my room. I told Miriam what I'd
come for and then I went right out"
"What did Miriam say?"
"Pardon me?"
"I asked you what she said."
"She knew what I was talking about She knew where
I was going."
"What did she say?"
 Murder Mystery 165

"Nothing."
"Where was she?"
"In bed, in her room."
"Didn't you even give her a kiss good night?"
"I didn't want to catch whatever she had."
"Did she just wave good night?"
"I don't understand."
"Did you go in her room?"
"We have connecting rooms. The door was open and I
just—"
"Did you see her, Jensen?"
There was a long pause. As the implication of Dade's
question forced itself on him, Jensen looked at Dade with
horror, eyeballs protruding. "Do you mean she could have
been dead at that time? That she could have been in the
garage when I thought I was talking to her?"
'That's exactly what I mean. Monkhaus arrived as you
left and he says he saw you leaving and then found her
dead."
"My God, I didn't know that!"
"But you can see now how it would look to the sheriff if
you pretended that you hadn't been here."
Jensen turned away. In the firelight, Dade could see
little spangles of perspiration on the smooth bronzed skull.

Jensen got to his feet

"I suggest you get yourself on down to the sheriff's first
thing in the morning and correct that statement you gave
them," Dade said.
Jensen thought about this for some time, palms flat to-

gether, squinting into them like a poker player of two

minds about his hand. Finally, he said, "I want you there."
"You don't need me."
"Nevertheless, I want you to be present"
"Why?"
"Because the whole thing is ridiculous! My wife
died in
a dreadful accident and, at the behest of my daughter, you
have gone around trying to make everything seem part of
a conspiracy involving some second-rate painting you say
is missing, and you've kept this up until finally, you've got

the sheriff calling me to clarify matters. Well, I will gladly

clarify them, sir, but in front of you, so that you won't be
166 Murder Mystery
able to put some different construction on all of this be-
hind my back. I want this thing settled in the morning."
"Since you're on my way, why don't I pick you up?"
"All right, you can do that."
"Nine-thirty suit you?"
"Fine." Jensen walked him to the front door, then
shook hands with him and said, "Look, there's nothing
personal in any of this. We just disagree. You understand
that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Good!" Jensen smiled. Dade went out the door.
Abruptly, Jensen turned back into the house, closing the
door behind him.
Outside, Dade started toward his car. Through the
lighted window, he could see Jensen, phone in hand,
punching out a number. Dade hesitated for a moment.
Jensen looked up just then and caught Dade's eyes on him.
Jensen turned his back, almost as if he were afraid Dade
could read his lips.
 "

XXII

Ellen met him at the door with an Old Fashioned. Taking

itfrom her, he said, "How'd you know when I'd be here?"
"I heard the funicular start up and I just took it out of
the icebox. You sure you still want to be a detective,
honey?"
"You're not mad anymore?"
"Oh, you're such an old fool." She kissed him, helping
him out of his jacket. "Motke called. Said he was sorry for
the delay. Said he's still working on it and that he hopes to
have word for you by tomorrow." She kissed him lightly.
"Of course I was worried about you. But I wasn't after I
heard that they had him locked up."
"Had who locked up?"
**The murderer."
"And who's
that, honey?"
"Monkhaus, of course. I heard about How he
showed up with a gun — all it.

—
" to get back the painting he killed Miriam for but
somehow forgot to take with him."
"Oh, don't talk to me like that."
"I guess I don't understand your reasoning.**
"He showed up in a rage and killed her and then . ." .

She wavered. "Well, I guess he thought the painting was

there but he couldn't find it."
"And it was now too late
since he'd already killed her,
to ask her wherewas, is that what you mean?"
it

She gave him a look of annoyed bafflement, took the

drink from his hand and took a sip from it. "All right,
what did happen?"
i 167
168 Murder Mystery
"When I find out, I'll tell you."
"So you don't know either."
"I'm afraid I don't."
"Then why try to make a fool out of me?"
"I was just teasing, honey. The crazy thing is, it's just
possible.Anything is."
"Think about how he treated Miriam years ago when
they were married. That was an act of rage." He nodded
soberly. "Well, for goodness' sake, tell me what you found
out. What did Nettie lie about?**
"Just let me catch my breath.**
"Oh, Dade!" She put her arms around him. "Darling, I
don't want you involved in all this. You're a lawyer, not a
detective. If there's a murderer loose, I don't want you
running around after him. What are the police for?"
"I've often asked myself that same question."
"Did I tell you that in Egypt, the soul of a murdered
man had to be nailed down? You see, if a man was mur-
dered, they believed his ifrit would rise from the ground
where his blood had been shed and the only way of re-
straining it was by driving a nail which had never been
used into the ground at the spot where the murder was
committed."
"And that's what you think I ought to do?*'
"That's what you're doing. The ghost is the murderer's
And you nail
sense of guilt. it down at the spot where

murder was done by showing just how it was done and who
did it."

"Ellen, you're a wonder."

"Have you had dinner?'*
"I had a cup of soup. With Tillie Monkhaus."
"Let me fix you something.**
He waved a hand at her. "I'll make you a proposition.
Let's us walk on the beach while you tell me what you
found out, and we'll head on down to the point there
where you see that light or any other shack that takes your
fancy, and have a late supper."
They went out onto the deck and down the steps to the
sand and started walking along the water's edge. In the dis-
tance, they could see the long curve of lights outlining the
bay.
 " —
Murder Mystery 169

"What time of year is it they catch lemmings?" she

asked.
"That's grunion and it's midsummer."
They took off their shoes and waded through the
lacy fans of the waves, sinking into the sand, heading
south. She put a hand on his sleeve and said, "May I tell
you something?"
"What?"
"A black slimy thing is climbing up your leg."
"Oh shit!" He brushed it off quickly and it oozed away.
He squinted after it, then filled his pipe and lit it, cupping
hishands and shielding the match from the sea breeze.
She said, "What happened today?" He told her, finishing
up with an account of his visit to Jensen. The mirror of
the sea cast a faint glow at the water's edge and he could
make out the surprised expression on her face. "So Jensen
was there, Monkhaus and then Gil. Well, if two of them
found her dead, the third must have killed her the one —
who was there first."
"But which one is that?"
"You just said
—
"No, I only told you what they said. Pete told us he saw
Monk's car there at ten after nine. Let's say we accept
that. All that means is that Monkhaus was there at that
time. Now, Monkhaus says that as he arrived, he saw Jen-
sen leaving, but it could easily have been the other way
around. Remember, we only have Monk's word for this.
Jensen can't say anything because he'd never seen Monk-
haus and couldn't possibly have recognized him."
"So it's Monkhaus or Jensen."
"Or GO."
"You told me Gil was at Jetty's — —
no, wait I see. That's
just what Gil said."
if Gil had called her from Jetty's and got-
"Right. See,
ten no answer, he might have driven straight up to the
house without waiting. That would get him there just be-
fore nine. Any one of the three could have been there
first."

"Well, Monkhaus and Gil both had the same motive

the painting. But what was Jensen's?"
"You tell me."
 " " " " —
170 Murder Mystery
"Oh, know! He's a violent, jealous man. Everybody's
I
known him for years. Let's say he came back to
that about
get the code key, decided to swap cars after all, people —
always prefer to drive their own cars, especially on a high-
—
way like that in the downpour let's say he happened to
catch her running off to meet Gil!"
"We don't know if Jensen knew anything about her
plans with Gil."
"But he'd caught her trying to run off
if
—
"Ellen, you'd have to point out to me what triggered his
reaction. Remember, all he sees is his wife in a car."
"Suppose he saw something more?"
"What?"
"I give up. So that's it, then. You've narrowed it down
to three suspects."
"You deserve all the credit for that, my dear."
'Thank you, Dade!" Then her expression changed and
him hard in
she punched the arm. "A fie on you!"
"Honey—!"
"All right! So they're all in it together!"
"Ellen, please—"
"Don't 'please' me!"
"I just thought you were being impulsive, is all."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."
"Impulsive! Listen, for a man who ends up representing
practically everybody he meets — !"

"That's not true!"

"Well, you started out representing Miriam's estate, then
you agreed to represent Rachel —
"And that's it."
"What about Gil?"
"I just stood in for old Willy Postel for an hour or so
and incidentally found out a thing or two in the
process
—
"Then there's Jensen —
"I do not represent him. He just wants me to go with
him to the sheriff's in the morning because he thinks it's
my fault that he has to be there." a finger at He shook
her. "And I don't like you making fun of my work, do
you understand me?"
 "

Murder Mystery 171

"I didn't mean
to offend you. Especially as I was just
about to retain you myself."
"You?"
"I may soon be charged with assault and battery." She
eyed him.
"Oh, Ellen—"
"Don't talk to me!"
Dade tramped along on the hard-packed sand, hands
behind his back, whistling soundlessly under his breath,
Ellen striding ahead of him. Catching up with her, he put
an arm around her and gave her a kiss. "Truce?"
'Truce."
He pointed with his pipe to the lighted windows of a
cafe. "That place okay?" She nodded.
It was crowded. They were told there would be a wait
of an hour and a half, so they had drinks in the bar. After
fifteen minutes, Dade beckoned to the shapely young wait-
ress. She walked over to him and bent down to hear him
over the din of voices, her little brown plastic tray pressed
to her full young breasts. He brought his face close to her
bosom, reading her name tag.
"They call you Shari?"
"That's right."
"What a lovely name."
"Thank you."
"My name's Cooley."
"How do you do, Mr. Cooley."
"I want you, I think you're quite a waitress."
to tell

"Oh, thank you, sir."

"And I'm not just saying that because I'm the new
owner —
"You're the what?"
"Dade! You promised!" Ellen gasped.
"I shouldn't have said anything," he muttered.
"No, please!" the waitress said.
"Well, I just bought it today. And I thought, why don't
we drop in and see how things are going?"
"I'll get the manager."

"No. Now, I insist You're not to say one word.

Promise?"
"Yes, sir."
172 Murder Mystery
In five minutes, they were shown to a booth in the din-
ing room with high-backed leather armchairs, the table set
against a window looking out over the waves. He smiled at
Ellen. She looked away.
"You said you wouldn't do that anymore.*'
"At my age, a man is forgetful."
"Oh, shut up!"
"Now, let's hear what you learned." A young waiter
came up and recited the menu. Dade said, "I'd like a bully
of beef and a ratchet of burgundy." The waiter frowned,
puzzled.
Ellen interrupted, ordering for them. Alone, they sipped
their drinks. "All right," she said, taking out her notes,
"where shall I begin?"
"Here's my problem. Afella shows up with a painting.
Crude. Something makes Miriam suspicious and she finds
there's another painting underneath it. She X-rays it and
finds out it's essentially the same painting and guesses it
was overpainted to disguise it so it could be smuggled out
of Europe. She says she thinks it's a missing Romano.
Now, she starts stripping it to get at the painting under-
neath. She hasn't paid Monkhaus for it yet because she's
not sure. Now, that part's all right. I got no quarrel with
all that.
"A month later, she tells Monkhaus she was right, that
it isa Romano, which we know is a lie 'cause there's no
missing Romano. Now, here's the problem: What did she
think it was and what the hell made her so sure at one
glance? I feel the truth is staring us in the face and it's so
obvious, we just can't see it. That's why I wanted you to
dig up what you could on authentication. Refresh my
memory."
Ellen said, "Well, the most interesting thing I learned is
that there don't happen to be any books on the subject. I
had a long talk with the librarian, who turned out to be a
charming man, very understated. I'll just run through all
this rapidly and you can stop me if anything isn't clear.
"First, you have scientific analysis —
X-ray to see the
drawing underneath, infrared, et cetera. Every important
museum has its own conservation lab where they do these
things. But of course one must remember that a scientific
 Murder Mystery 173

analysis can never yield more than negative results. That

is, it can only tell us that there is nothing modern in the

paints used in the picture or in the panel or canvas. The

painting could still be a modern copy done by an artist
using old canvas and old paint but if he slips up and uses
even a single pigment known, say, only since the nineteenth
century, then he gives the whole show away. But you know
all that. You must."
"Just keep talking, honey."
"Well, he knew Miriam and he talked about how she
worked. She was a follower of Berenson, who was some-
thing of a detective and actually pioneered the whole art
of authentication, starting in around the eighteen nineties
and continuing right up until the Second World War." She
squinted at her notes, saying under her breath, "Leans on
photography, sort of. Topaz-colored eyes."
"I didn't follow that, honey."
"Oh, that's the librarian. He has these very unusual
eyes. I don't believe I've ever seen anybody with eyes that
color, so I just made a note to myself, that's all."

"Uh-huh."
"Well, to resume—"
"You're blushing, honey."
"Never mind!"
"Just thought I'd mention it. Pray continue."
"Photography. Yes. That's what authentication leans on.
The use of photography came into existence in the
eighteen seventies and eighteen eighties — that is to say, at
around that time the catalogues of museums and galleries
began to have photographs in them. Before, an expert
really had to depend on his memory when he wanted to
make comparisons of style and technique."
"Well, we know all that."
"If we know so much, why do we have to keep read-
ing?"
"Sorry, honey. Full speed ahead."
"Anyway, what Berenson did was to amass a huge col-
lection of photographs so that he could spread out the
works of a given master at a moment's notice, have en-
largements made, if necessary, and then compare a given
 —
174 Murder Mystery
painting in terms of brush strokes, length, direction, pal-
ette, subject, composition, proportion and so forth."
She began reading her notes aloud. "Berenson actually
owed much to man named Morelli, who felt one could
best determine an artist's style by looking at those things
—
not chief focus of artist's full attention ears, for example.
An artist in Renaissance would create style of painting
ears and stick to that style for rest of life, and this not
something imitator would pay much attention to ears or —
fingers or noses, depending on artist. Greek nose."
"What was that last part?"
"Nothing."
"Is that another little note to yourself, honey?"
"Listen, for a man who's been tom-catting around with
three women all day long, you can just forget all about my
librarian!"
"All right, all right. Well, that last wouldn't do it be-
cause she knew right off. What comes next?"
"Provenance." She glanced at her notes again and read:
"But of course if documentation exists, say, on back of
painting, that would take precedence over opinion. In-
stance: It was often custom for nobleman of period who
commissioned portrait to put his coat of arms on back of
picture with red wax seal. Something like that fairly con-
clusive. And if we can find stencils on back of canvas by,
say, Christie's or some other reputable auction house
well, then we know what we have."
"She wouldn't have to strip the painting to see the back
of the canvas. No good. Next."
"Signature. But most paintings of the Renaissance were
not signed. In fact, if a painting were signed, that would
make it suspect."
"We can rule that out, too. Next?"
"Opinion." She read from her notes. "Authentication
really only subjective opinion on whether a picture is right
—
or not a unanimous opinion of three or four of the best
authorities."
"She didn't call in any three or four authorities. Next?"
She took a paperback book out of her pocket. "I got
you this. It's the John McPhee Reader and there's a gor-
geous piece in here on Thomas Hoving, written when he
 "

Murder Mystery 171

was director of the Metropolitan. This one paragraph ex-

plains Miriam.*'
She began reading. " "Get in touch with other schol-
ars— everybody you think is expert. The idea that there ii
fierce competition among museums in this respect if

laughable. Everyone helps everyone. . . . Then get the

work of art with you and live with it as long as you pos-

sibly can. You have watch it Watch it. Come across i1

to
by accident. I used to have the staff at The Cloisters pul
things where I would come across them by accident. A
work of art will grow in stature, and fascinate you more
and more. If it is a fake, it will eventually fall apart before
your eyes, like a piece of plaster. .
." What is it?"
.
'

Dade had gotten to his feet, hands on his hips, and was
looking down at her as if down at a witness who had just
given crucial testimony by accident. "She didn't call any-
body in. Couldn't have. Wasn't time. She didn't live with it
and watch it, like Hoving says. Now, she was one of the
great authenticators in the country. But she didn't do any
of the things you'd expect her to do, so just how the hell
did she know what she had on her hands with just one
look?" Dade relit his pipe, filling their comer with clouds
of blue smoke. The surf pounded in their ears, like the
dull concussion of cannonfire.
Ellen said, squinting at her notes, "I suppose it couldn't
be—
"What?" He sat down, at a loss.
"I can't read my writing. He was talking so fast. Iden-
tificatory? Is thatwhat that says? Oh, marks. I'm sorry,
Dade. I don't know what he was talking about"
"Son of a bitch!"
"What?"
He shook a finger at Ellen. "I just remembered! It don't
mean doodily-squat if you've got certain things."
"What things?" She had picked up her drink. Now she
put it down, puzzled.
"Let me tell you a story. Back in my daddy's time, they
stole the 'Mona Lisa.' " She looked at him with surprise.
He said, "Didn't you know that? Fact. Stole it from the
Louvre in 191 1. It was gone for two years and then found
in the possession of an Italian who said he had stolen it
 "

176 Murder Mystery

out of national pride. That part's not important. What
they had to know was whether they had the real painting
back. You know how long it took to authenticate? Forty-
five minutes! And here's how they did it. Didn't even look
at the thing. Hung it face to the wall, like the poor old
lady was in disgrace, and then opened a sealed envelope
containing certain secret identifying marks the museum
had put on the back of the canvas, and then checked these
one by one till they were sure. That's how they did it and
I'll bet you that's how she did it. Only in this case, the

marks must have been on the front which explains why

she had to strip it to make sure."
"I never heard of marks like that before."
"Most people haven't. That's because they're only on a
few paintings. But those paintings are the ones worth mil-
lions. That's the name of this game!" He burst out in a
shout of triumphant laughter. Then he said soberly, "Poor
woman's dead and I'm carrying on. Well, as my old daddy
used to say, 'It's no laughing matter but it's no matter if
you laugh.'
After dinner they walked back up the beach to the inn,
returning about eleven. As they went back into their room,
Dade mused, "All we know is, Monk's father, he smuggled
a stolen painting into this country thirty-five years ago.
Stolen from where? And when? Hell's bells, Ellen, all we
know is it's a picture of some pretty lady and there are

thousands and thousands of those, for which I thank God,

apart from this here particular problem. We don't even
know what the damn thing looks like!"
"Yes, we do!"
"What do you mean?"
"It looks like a Giulio Romano. Otherwise Miriam
wouldn't have pretended that that's what it was."
He put his hands on the small of his back and glared at
her as if at a hostile witness. "Honey, I didn't just ride
into town on a load of pumpkins! I know that much! So
what the hell does that tell us?"
Ellen threaded a needle, eying a loose button on his
jacket. "He painted just like the man he worked for." She
met his eyes.
His jaw dropped. "Raphael! Christ-on-the-mountain, Ra-
 " " "

Murder Mystery 177

phaell" Hegrabbed for the phone and called Arnolphe

Motke San Francisco, finally getting him after a dozen
in
rings. Motke's voice was thick. "Arnie? You asleep or
drunk?"
"A little of both."
'The subject is painting. Italian Renaissance. Get on the

phone. Start with Interpol. Then use your own sources. I

don't care where you call. I don't give a hoot in hell if you
get 'em out of bed. Just find out how many Raphaels are
missing and when they disappeared. Names, dates and
places." Dade slammed down the phone and then began
pacing up and down, hardly standing still long enough for
Ellen to pull off his jacket. She made tea, which he spiked
with bourbon. Then he watched the news with the sound
off, tipping back in his chair, somnolent, inattentive,

soothed by the silent pictures flashed on the screen. After-

ward he went out on the deck and smoked his pipe.
It was one in the morning, an hour and a half after
Dade talked with Motke, when the phone rang. Dade
banged into the room, almost tripping over a chair in his
haste to answer it.
Motke's voice said, "Julius the Second. Portrait. Intend-
ed for Santa Maria del Popolo and disappeared around
1513. Portrait shows old man with long white beard.
Aforementioned is only Raphael that ever disappeared —
"Goddamned son of a bitch —
—
" until the theft of 'La Fornarina'
—
"The what?"
—
" also known as 'The Veiled Woman,* which was
stolen from the Louvre. I will spell that name."
"Stolen when?"
"Nineteen forty-five."
"Sweet Jesus."
"That do it?"
"You old bastard, you really came through."
"What's going on?"
"I'll tell you all about it when I see you. Go back to bed."

Dade banged down the phone and let out a cowboy yell of
triumph. He told Ellen, then said, "First thing in the
morning, you call up Pickwick. I want one of those big fat
art books, you know, the kind with reproductions of every-
178 Murder Mystery
thing the artist ever painted. Tell them to send it out here
by messenger."
"I know what you want. Do you think that's it?"
"Has to be."
"Easy enough to find out. Monk would know. Tillie.
Rachel. Gil. Nettie. They all saw it."
"Yeah, but I got me a little trick up my sleeve. Just get
me that book." He broke off, seeing a shadowed ex-
pression on Ellen's face. "What's the matter?"
"Maybe I'm a little afraid for you."
"You being superstitious?"
"A little. Did you know that the soul of a murder vic-
tim thought to be able to fasten itself on any mortal
is

who had been in some way connected with it in this world

and cause terrible mischief?"
"Ellen—"
"But isn't it true? Hasn't Miriam's soul fastened on you,
Dade? And isn't it getting to be very dangerous?" Not let-
ting him answer, she put him to bed, then joined him. In
minutes, she was fast asleep. But he lay awake, staring out
through the dark windows at the night and listening to the
pounding of the surf.
 XXIII

In the morning, Dade was up at seven, ordered breakfast

for two, and then pulled on his trunks, climbed down to
the rocky beach from the weatherworn redwood deck and
waded into the surf for a quick dip. The weather was
treacherous, the sky bright but the surf high, with gusts of
wind blowing brief, ugly sandstorms in front of the bun-
galows fronting on the water. He breasted the breakers
and swam out to the choppy waters beyond, paddling back
and forth and ducking under the swells like a happy seal.
Looking down along the curve of the coast, dotted with
glass-walled houses, each with its deck stretched out over
the steep beach, he could see occasional plumes of sand
kicked up by the winds. The Santa Anas were going to
blow, the devil winds. There was something ominous about
it. Floating on his back and paddling with his feet and

hands, he thought about the strangeness of hot winds,

about their names: sirocco, mistral, John; how they trou-
bled men's minds; how even the law reflected this human
truth, at least in Europe in places like Germany and
Switzerland, where crimes committed during the harsh, hot
blowing of the John historically drew lesser punishments.
He swam back to shore, then stood on the thick crunch
of the rocky strand. The gusts were harder now, great
sheets of it drying him in moments, a laundry of wind
stretched out on invisible clotheslines, a world of small
tempests, hot, dying away only to return again and again.
He stamped up and down in the glitter of harsh sunlight,
glancing out at the rocks, half-submerged in the rising
tide, thick with mussels. He remembered a line Ellen had

179
 "

180 Murder Mystery

once written, that the plump gray ones had been the diet
of the Chumash but the flat blue-black ones had crossed
the seas on the hulls of Cabrillo's ships all the way from
the placid lake of the Mediterranean and colonized here, a
chance gift from the Conquistadores.
He looked up and saw Pete standing there, balancing a
tray. Dade waved to him and clambered up to the deck.
"I'll have that inside," Dade said, stepping into his bur-

noose, toweling himself and shedding his wet trunks.

Pete set the tray on the table and uncovered the steam-
ing breakfasts. Dade could hear Ellen singing in the
bathroom, showering.
"I brought you ham and eggs as a treat."
"I just ordered Post Toasties and a jelly doughnut."
"I sneaked this stuff out. You don't have to pay for it."
"I knew you for a crook the day I first saw you." Dade
took a swallow of coffee and blotted his lips. "You write
to your daddy, like I told you?"
"I sent a card." The boy frowned. "You know," he said,
**I been thinking. You shouldn't go around telling every-

body what to do."

"Why not?"
"It's a free country. I don't have to think like you.. Ev-
eryone's got a right to their own opinion."
" 'And every other man has a right to knock him down
for it.' You know who said that? Samuel Johnson did. You
ever read Boswell's Johnson?"
"No, sir."
"Well, you should. It'll help form your character. I saw

a paperback copy of it upstairs at the newsstand. I want

you to buy it and put it on my bill and start reading
tonight because I'm going to be asking you questions
about it in the morning."
"I don't have much free time, sir."
"Make time."
"Mr. Cooley, try to understand
—
"You resent my helping you, son?"
"Oh, not at all, sir. You've been real nice to me. I won't
forget it. Some folks, they act like you don't have any
feelings at all."
"Is that so?"
 "

Murder Mystery 181

"Treat you like dirt, you know? One guy, he'd call up
and order things and then just hang up on me like I was a
machine, not even so much as a well, goodbye." Pete
. . .

started out
Dade made a pyramid of his hands, breathing into
them, thumbs hooked under his chin. He was like a man
listening for the fall of tumblers. "Just one moment,
please." Pete turned, an inquiring look on his face. "I
want you to cast your mind back to something you told
me. You were in the garage and the lady of the house —
"The dead lady?"
*That's the one. She picked up the extension phone and
said. ? Now, tell me those words again, those words
. .

you heard."
"She said, I can't move it!"
" 'I can't move it.' That's what she said?"
"Yes, sir."
"You didn't tell me that part before."
"Well, I just remembered."
"Go on."
"Then she said, 'Listen, those kids are still here. Til have
you back.' "
to call
"Now, I want you to think very carefully. What hap-
pened next?"
"She put down the phone."
"You mean hung it up?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just like that?Kind of funny to hang up on somebody,
Didn't she say goodbye first?"
isn't it?
"No . . ." Pete hesitated, trying to remember some-
thing. Then his face cleared.
"What is it, boy? Tell me."

"She didn't say goodbye because the other person hung

up. Yeah. That's what happened."
"You sure?"
I just remembered. I heard the click."
"I'm positive.
"You've been very helpful. Now, get out of here. And
thanks, Pete."
"Have a nice day."
"Yeah.You too." Pete left the room. Ellen came out of
the bathroom dressed in a plum-colored wool jersey dress
182 Murder Mystery
and sat down to breakfast "Where are you going?" Dade
asked.
"After I get your book, I'm going shopping."
"That stuff they got at the Getty's not for sale."
"For groceries. I thought I told you not to order jelly
doughnuts."
"My doctor says I'm to force jelly doughnuts." Dade
finished his breakfast and sat down at the table, a tablet
open, and began making brief notes of what Pete had told
him. The phone rang. He answered it.
A woman's voice said, "Mr. Cooley, this is Mary up-
stairs. Did you want the boy to bring you down a copy of
Masters and Johnson?"
"Put him on the phone." Dade waited, annoyed.
Then, Pete's voice said, "This is Pete, sir."
"Put down the phone, go over to the rack and find that
copy I saw of Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson and come
back and tell me when you have it in your hand."
"Yes, sir." Dade waited. After two minutes, Pete's voice
said triumphantly, "I found it, sir!"
'Ten pages by tomorrow morning or your friend the
Mahatma will find himself on a cattle boat headed east be-
fore the sun sets." Dade banged down the phone.
At eight-fifteen, he got up, pulled off his burnoose, went
into the bathroom and showered happily, singing,, "I love
you as I never loved befor-r-r-e ..." in a deep booming
voice. Then, scrubbing himself with a towel and praising
his reflection in glowing terms, he dried his thick white
hair, scraped his pink face with a straight-edged razor,
sharpening it from time to time on a leather strop he had
fastened around the flush lever of the toilet, scented him-
self with cologne, dressed in tweeds and came out into the
room.
Ellen said, "That sheriff called."
"Lieutenant Valdez?"
"Yes. He wants to talk to you."
Dade started out the door, saying, "Tell the lieutenant
hell have to take his turn, just like everyone else." Then
he turned and saw Valdez blocking the door.
Valdez said, "It's my turn now. Gil Ransohoff disap-
peared."
 "

Murder Mystery 183

Dade stopped in his tracks.
"Around nine p.m. last night. I must have called you I
don't know how many times."
"We got back late."
"Don't you pick up your messages?"
"Not when I come in the back door."
"I had further questions I wanted to ask Dr. Ransohoff
and I went over to his house myself. His wife invited
me in. She called him a couple of times and then said he
was in the bathroom. We waited. We must have waited
about ten minutes and she thought perhaps he hadn't
heard her because the water was running, so she went up-
stairs and banged on the door and then called me, saying
she couldn't get any answer. The door was locked. We
forced it. The room was empty. The water was on and the
window was open. I wonder if you know anything about
it."

"I do not."
"You must have some idea where he is, since you
represent him."
"I do not represent him. I appeared as his counsel only
temporarily in the absence of Mr. Postel."
"Mind telling me why?" Dade stared at him. "When you
came downtown, you mentioned a
"If you will excuse me — possible conflict."

"You're the one mentioned it."

"Lieutenant," Ellen said, "why on earth am I keeping
you standing in the doorway? Do come in and let me give
you some coffee. By the way, did you know that the an-
cient Semites believed that if you spent New Year's night
in a cemetery, knowledge could be obtained? Of course, I
suppose the first thing you'd learn is that it's a good way
to catch pneumonia."
"I'd try anything at this point to break this case."
"Have some coffee."
'Thank you, ma'am."
She took his arm and led him into the room. Behind
them, the door closed. When Valdez turned around, Dade
was gone.
Dade arrived at the Welles house at nine-twenty. He
was shown into the library by Rosarita, who had just re-
184 Murder Mystery
turned half an hour before and had no idea where the
senor was. Dade looked at his watch. "He was expecting
me."
"Yes, senor**
"Maybe he's just out on an errand."
"Perhaps he is, senor.'*
wait."
"I'll just

"May Ibring you coffee, senor?**

"Fd like that." Nine-thirty came and went. When Jensen
had not arrived by ten o'clock, Dade called his office and
was told by the answering service that they had not heard
from him. When he were no messages
called the inn, there
for him. He called Jensen's club. No, Mr. Welles had not
been there at all. At ten-thirty he tried Ballinger's office.
The exchange put him through to Ballinger's house. No,
Ballinger had no idea where Jensen had gone but would
be sure to get in touch with him if he heard. Irritated,
Dade stomped out of the Welles house.
 "

XXIV

When he got back to the inn, Ellen was out on the deck
hanging up laundry.
"Did Jensen call? Son of a bitch stood me up." She
shook her head. "You find out if they got that book at
Pickwick?"
"They had it down the road, left over from the holi-
days." She picked up a huge art book and carried it over
to him, ramming it into his belly. "Here. Merry Christ-
mas."
"How'd you get down there and back without a car?"
"One of the neighbors gave me a ride."
"You mean one of the guests?"
"No. Just a neighbor."
"I didn't know we knew any neighbors."
"Well—"
"Who gave you a ride?"
"A nice man."
"What nice man?"
"A truck farmer. You see, he was kind enough to
stop—"
"You trying to tell me you were hitchhiking?"
"In a manner of speaking. It's just that I'd never done it

and I knew you were hurry and he was obviously a

in a
very nice man, big mustache, Italian accent, something of
a singer
—
"How'd you get back?"
"I didn't hitchhike."
"I asked you a question."
185
 " —
186 Murder Mystery
"The Sparkletts
bottled water and
man.
I just
— He was delivering somebody's

"You know you're something of a damn fool?"

"Well, thanks!"
"You're entirely welcome." He put the heavy book on
the table. Ellen unwrapped another book and started
leafing through it
—
"What you got there Vasari?" Dade asked. "He must
have seen it when the paint was wet."
"No, but this author mentions him." She turned pages
carefully, then began reading. " 'As a portraitist Raphael
was second to no Renaissance painter. Whoever she may
—
have been and it is likely that she was the famous For-
narina ("baker's daughter") recorded by Vasari the sitter —
for the so-called Donna Velata ("veiled woman") is the
same dark-eyed creature Raphael used as a model for the
Sistine Madonna ... In color this is the richest of all
Raphael's portraits.' It goes on to speak of \ the dazzling
. .

white-and-gold drapery of this enchanting portrait, the

resonant depth of the dark eyes and chestnut hair, the bril-
liance of the pale flesh, the soft glow of the stones in the
necklace, and the luminous marvel of the pearl hanging
"
from the woman's veil.'
"Let's have a look."
"Here it is." She opened the heavy book on the table to
a full-page reproduction of "La Fornarina."
"That's the baker's daughter, all right Now, it comes
back to me. You know who she is, don't you?"
"No."
"His girlfriend! Fact. Vasari said Raphael had to have
women around him all the time. Horniest bastard of the
whole bunch. Michelangelo and Da Vinci, they sort of let
a lot of poontang go to waste, so Raphael, he just licked
everybody else's plate clean, so to speak. Toward the end,
he slowed down. Working away in some fella's palazzo
Chigi, that's the man —
and Raphael, he moved so slow,
they brought in this baker's daughter to stay there with
him, to stoke his fires. Loved her. Wrote his sonnets to
her. So, therewas the two of them, banging away night
and day in that drafty palazzo, and then Raphael, he fig-
—
ured the end was near only thirty-seven but you know
 "

Murder Mystery 187

when it's coming —

and he sent her away, 'leaving her
means to live honestly,' Vasari says. And after all, Vasari
was his friend. He ought to know. Then, they put the
Transfiguration' up at the end of the bed, where he could
seeit and, come Good Friday, he ups and dies. Know
what Vasari says the poor bastard died of? Fucked hisself
to death!"
"Dade!"
"Fact! And that picture,
— honey" —Dade jabbed a finger
at the glowing portrait "that picture's a painting of the
woman who made him do it. Shame on you!" he shouted
at the baker's daughter. "Thirty-seven years old —a mere
slip —
of a boy and you egged him on till he fucked hisself
to death! Christ, what a story."
"How come you're still alive, dearest?" She put on her
coat.
"Where you off to?"
"The Getty. I've come
across the most marvelous books
there for my found something I want to share
piece. I've
with you and that dear lieutenant. Did you know that the
Talmud even has an incantation to exorcise the demon of
a privy? I knew that would make your day!" She pirou-
etted, a finger on her head. His face reddened. She started
out.
"Take the car," he yelled, "and don't talk to truck farm-
ers. Andwhile I'm thinking about it, stay away from the
Sparkletts man as welL I'll overlook it this once but I
won't sanction
—
"And you stay out of bakeries, especially those with
daughters on the premises!"
He snapped his fingers. "By God."
"What?" She stopped.
"Overlook and sanction!"
"Overlook and sanction?"
"Cleave, conjure, merde and now, overlook and sanc-
tion! Take that!"
After she left, Dade went out and sat on the deck, prop-
ping his feet up on the railing, letting the salt air blow in
his face, squinting at the water and trying to pretend he
was on a ship. That was the thing. They'd have to take a
cruise. To the Greek islands. He imagined a grateful client
188 Murder Mystery
with a yacht. One big enough for four children. Oh, you
are too kind, sir. A knock at the doorinterrupted his day-
dreaming.
It was Pete with a letter. He said apologetically, "I was
supposed to bring this thing down here on a tray but I
couldn't find one. Oh, and the guy said to tell you he's
sorry. The messenger. See, he was supposed to deliver this
to you last night but there was a slide."
Dade waved him away, closed the door, ripped open the
letter and began to read. It was in Jensen's careful hand-
writing. It said:

Dear Dade,
I have known almost from the beginning that Miriam
was murdered. Upon reflection, I realize that suspicion
may fall on me. That being the case, I must now tell
you the exact truth of what happened. You will see
from what I am about to write that everything I am tell-
ing you is in confidence. Naturally, I cannot put any of
this on the record at this time. After you have had the
opportunity to consider what I'm about to tell you, then,
perhaps, we can meet and decide on a proper course of
action. Meanwhile, maybe one will occur to me.
In 1945, Raphael's "La Fornarina" was stolen from
the Louvre. As I'm sure you know, there is no statute of
limitations in France on the theft of national art
treasures. The French government asked Interpol for
help. There was never any hint that the painting ever
entered this country. For years now, it has been con-
sidered lost, hidden perhaps in one of those private
South American collections, which I happen to think
are more legend than fact.
Afew days before her death, Miriam came to me
and me
she had a surprise, that Raphael's "La For-
told
narina" ("The Veiled Woman," as it is popularly
known) had turned up. She said the owner wanted to
sell it secretly and that his price on the black market
was three million dollars, which, of course, is a fraction
of the price it would easily command in a legitimate
sale. After my initial shock, I was hesitant I have never
trafficked in stolen goods.
 Murder Mystery 189

Miriam proposed the whole thing as if it were a lark.

She said to me, "How would you like to own a French
national art treasure? A Raphael!" I was shocked at her.
She said to me, "Look, it's the black market. If you
don't buy it, it might go into the private collection of
some very rich family or to some Mafia figure and it
might be a hundred years before the Louvre gets it
back, if then. Buy it," she said to me. "Buy it for the
Louvre. But keep it. Keep it with you for the rest of
your life. They owe you that much for buying it back
for them. Think of it as rental. And then, just will it
back to them and they'll get it on your death. After all,
they haven't had it for years. They can wait a while
longer."
The mysterious was
to deliver the painting to
seller
my house on the night of the fifteenth of February, at
which time I would hand over three million in cash.
That's why I had to go into town on the night of the
storm — to telex Zurich. Three million in cash isn't easy
to raise, even for a man in my position. It had taken me
days to get that much money together.
Well, of course, the night of the fourteenth, Miriam
was killed in what all of us believed was a freak acci-
dent. Now, the question in my mind at that time was
whether the seller might figure out that I was the buyer
and try to reach me. The minute that Monkhaus man
started calling me about a missing Romano, I knew ev-
erything. But what could I do? I didn't have the
painting and I had absolutely no idea what had hap-
pened to it. On top of that, you started asking me the
same thing. There was simply nothing I could say ex-
cept, "I don't know." And wait —
to find out who had
killed my wife for it

Jensen Crumholtz Welles

Dade put the letter down carefully on the rickety card

table. He walked to the window and looked out at the
windswept sea.
"Shithouse mouse," he said.
 XXV
Dade called Pete. "What messenger service delivered this?"
he asked.
"The Malibu one. There's only just the one."
"Thanks." Dade hung up and checked the directory. He
got the dispatcher on the phone. Giving his name, Dade
said, "I got a letter today that your man said was supposed
to have been here last night."
"See, the road was blocked
—
" the dispatcher began.
"I just want to know when you picked up this letter.
What time?"
"Just a minute." The dispatcher left the line for a mo-
ment, then came back on and said, "Log says we got there
at nine thirty-seven."
"Mr. Welles give you the letter?"
"Our instructions are not to bother the house when Mr.
Welles calls us. We just always pick up his stuff from that
box he's got on that there gate pillar."
letter
"Last night was no different?"
"Not so far as I know."
"Thank you very much." Dade put down the phone and
stared off into space.
The phone rang. It was Valdez. Dade said, "I looked
for you when I got back but I didn't see you."
"Very funny. Okay if I come by in half an hour?"
"Any time you like."
"This is official business. I'll be there at eleven-thirty
and don't make me go
looking for you." Click.
Dade got to his feet, studied the baker's daughter for a
few moments, adjusting the book on the table so that it lay
190
 "

Murder Mystery 191

in plain view. He got himself a yellow lined tablet and a

thick stub of pencil from the kitchen and started making
himself a diagram of the Welles driveway and garage and
a timetable, his brows flying up and down as he concen-
trated, little sounds popping from his lips as he talked to
himself. He covered several pages. He had gotten to his
feet and started to walk up and down, measuring the
room, when he heard a knock at the door and went to it,
throwing it open.
Valdez entered, his jaw clenched like a fist. He looked
around. "Jensen Welles here?"
"No, he isn't."
"Been here?"
"No." Dade closed the door and gestured at a chair
drawn up at the table. He said, "You asked me a question
Friday night About whether I had any new evidence in
this case. I'm prepared to answer your question now. Take
a seat." Dade himself sat down by the fireplace.
At that moment, Valdez caught sight of the open art
book on the table. His face changed. Dade watched him.
Valdez said, "Okay, so you know the score."
"What's the story?"
Valdez said, "I'll ask the questions."
Dade knocked the bowl of the briar delicately against
the chimney wall, then began to fill it with little pinches of
tobacco taken from the pouch cupped in his crotch. "I'm a
slow study. You must have noticed that."
"Look, this is a federal case. Now, either you answer
my questions or else —
"Or what? Sonny, you don't want to get me riled.
else
Now, sit down
like I told you and pay attention. I don't
like folks standing over me unless they're waiters." Valdez
sat down. "Malibu Lagoon, I'm told, is regarded by the
Audubon Society as one of the greatest sanctuaries for
birds of passage in the entire southern half of this splendid
state —and being something of a bird of passage myself, I
am down there this very
entertaining the idea of strolling
afternoon on the arm of my wife, in which case, I will ask
you to excuse me, and that will put an end to our brief
discussion. Your other option is to put your cards on the
table."
192 Murder Mystery
"Mr. Cooley, don't push me."
"You can assume I know the whole story," Dade said,
ignoring him. "What I don't know is how you got into it
Tell me that and I'll do what I can to help you."
Valdez thought a moment. Then, as if agreeing with
himself, he nodded and said, "Okay. It's this simple. No-
body shells out millions for a painting without first finding
out if it's the real thing. Welles has a friend who is an as-
sistant curator at the Met. Welles called him and asked if
he had access to the secret identifying marks on the can-
vas. Welles, of course, had no way of knowing that his
friend the assistant curator also works for the FBI as an
expert on art thefts. The FBI got in touch with the French
government. They were only too glad to cooperate. Every-
thing was set to grab the painting on the fifteenth, when it

changed hands.
"Well, the lady was killed the night before, the painting
was nowhere to be found and a decision was made to call
the death accidental and close the case, just to throw ev-
erybody off-guard. We've had everyone connected with her
under surveillance ever since. That means the husband, the
daughter and her boyfriend, the attorney, the maid, the
first husband and his wife and the man the deceased was

—
going to run off with and his wife oh, and the partner,
that French lady. One of them murdered her and one of
them's got that painting stashed somewhere."
'Twelve."
"Twelve?"
"You're talking about suspects, right?" Dade said.
"How'd you come up with twelve?"
"You counting my wife and me?"
"You think I'm crazy?"
"Well, you'd be just as crazy to count a couple of the
others."
"Such as?"
"You have the floor."
"There's a word Mr. Cooley."
for people like you,
"And you don't want to be quoted using it. Now, just
carry on, son."
"We've found out this much: We leaned on Monkhaus.
 "

Murder Mystery 193

He admits he was there. He says he found her dead. And

he us that when he drove up a couple of minutes af-
tells

ter nine, Welles was just driving away. He swears it's true.
Now, I want to see Jensen Welles in my office today. All
right, all right, you're not his attorney, I know. But if I
don't hear from him by three o'clock, I'll send somebody
out to bring him in. That's for the record."
The phone rang for Valdez. He listened, grunting, say-
ing nothing until whoever was on the line had finished
speaking. Then he said, "On my way," and slammed down
the phone. He looked at Dade, his face dark with anger.
He said, "That woman who was clobbered the other night?
Mrs. Welles' partner?"
"Nettie?" Dade said, his eyes watchful.
'They found her car at the bottom of a cliff in
just
Malibu Canyon. They can't get to it yet but somebody
with binoculars spotted the license and it took them about
thirty seconds to get a make on it
—
Dade was already on his way to the door, Valdez fol-
lowing.
Malibu Canyon was a wild and spectacular pass through
the mountains which encircled Malibu like a sea wall. A
stream flowed through it, emptying into a lagoon at the
edge of the Colony, but unlike other streams in those
mountains, flowed year round and, as a consequence,
it

the canyon was lush, its floor thick with fern, willow and

sycamore. The road was a shelf cut into the winding cliffs,
rising higher and higher and then plunging into a tunnel
which led to the upland meadows of Calabasas and oak-
studded pastures where cattle and sheep grazed.
The squad car in which Dade and Valdez rode raced up
past the lawns of Pepperdine University and into the can-
yon, lights flashing and sirens wailing. Cars on the right
slowed to a stop, unable to risk pulling over onto the
crumbling shoulder. Their driver maneuvered the speeding
squad car from right to left, weaving back and forth on
the narrow two-lane road. They climbed higher and
higher, until they could see the black mouth of the tunnel
ahead of them, to their right a lookout point where the
road widened to allow motorists to park and admire the
194 Murder Mystery
view. The cliffs plunged hundreds of feet straight down to
the canyon below.
An ambulance was parked there, lights flashing. There
were several squad cars and a crane, with a paramedic
about to be lowered by cable to the floor of the canyon.
The driver skidded to a stop and they got out and started
toward the edge. The paramedic rotated slowly on his
cable like a skydiver, then signaled to the operator of the
crane; a winch turned and the paramedic plunged down
into the abyss.
Valdez hurried toward his men. Dade looked over the
edge of the cliff. Far below, smashed on the huge boulders
through which ran the narrow creek, he could see a black
Citroen. Valdez walked to another part of the cliff for a
better view. The paramedic far below struggled to wrench
open a door. When it wouldn't give, they saw him pick up
a rock and then scramble onto the hood of the car, lift the
rock and smash the windshield with it. Dade could see the
glass pebbling, flashing in the sunlight. The paramedic
crawled halfway into the front seat He remained there for
a couple of minutes and then wriggled back out, some-
thing in his right hand which he tucked in his shirt.
Straightening, he waved his arms. Abruptly, the winch
began to reverse itself and the paramedic swam slowly up
toward them through a sea of crystal air, dwarfed by the
huge rocky outcroppings in the almost-perpendicular cliffs.
He surfaced and the crane wheeled around, the paramedic
suspended for a moment above their heads, like a circus
performer about to attempt some extraordinary feat. Then
the winch reversed again and the paramedic in his white
jump suit descended in their midst like a giant marionette.
He unhooked himself from the rig, looking around at the
uniformed men everywhere, as if uncertain to whom he
should give his report.
The lieutenant beckoned to him. The paramedic strode
over to Valdez and spoke to him in a voice none of them
could hear, turning his back on the semicircle of audience
as if he did not want his expression read. He took an ob-
ject from his shirt and handed it to Valdez. Valdez put a
swift hand on the paramedic's shoulder as if challenging
 / Murder Mystery 195

him and made the paramedic turn slightly so that they

this
could all now see his profile as he nodded vehemently.
Valdez spoke to him again and the paramedic walked
away.
Valdez hesitated for a moment, looking down at the
wreck far below, knitting his dark brows, then turned and
walked toward Dade, handing him a thick wallet. Dade
opened it. Tucked into one side they could see a passport.
The other side was fullof credit cards. One of them fell to
the ground. Dade picked it up. It read, "Gilbert Ran-
sohoff."
Valdez nodded. "It's a man all right Answers to Ran-
sohoffs description. Alone in the car, brief case on the
seat next to him. Empty. That's it. Nothing else in the
car." Dade swore to himself. "It'll be some time before
they can get the body out of there." Valdez and Dade
walked toward the paramedic and two deputies, who were
now takingacetylene torches out of a utility truck.
'They'll have to cut him loose." Dade's eyes rested on
Valdez, as if asking a question to which he already knew
the answer. "It's too soon to be absolutely sure but it
seems fairly certainhe was shot to death."
"Jesus," Dade under his breath.
said
The paramedic turned to them and said, "Dead for
some time. Can't be sure how long until we get him out of
there." He jerked his head toward the canyon.
"Can you make a guess?" Dade asked.
"The way he looks, I would have said three days. The
sun does that. You'll have to get an opinion from forensic
but they'll only be able to tell you give or take a few
hours." The paramedic frowned. "But if somebody shot
him, what was the point of driving the car off the cliff? I
mean, what would it buy you?"
"Time," said Dade. "On a lonely road late at night,
good chance the car wouldn't be spotted before daylight."
Brandt came running up, saying there was an urgent
call from headquarters. "Okay, okay," Valdez said and
followed Brandt to the command car. Valdez leaned into
the driver's seat and picked up the microphone, speaking
into it and resting his forearms on the sill of the open win-
 "

196 Murder Mystery

dow. He listened for a moment. Dade could hear the
blurred chattering of a response. Turning toward Dade,
Valdez shot him a look of surprise, at the same time still
listening to the radio. Valdez said into the microphone,
knocking the dirt from his shoes by banging them against
the car, "Yes, sir, I want him picked up. I want him
brought in now for questioning." He paused a moment
There was a rapid, irritable reply. Valdez interrupted, say-
ing, "Sir, please try to see it from my point of view
—
Dade sensed rivalry in the air like acrid smoke. "Okay, sir,
put him on." Valdez nodded at Dade, flashing his white
teeth in a satisfied smile.
"Sergeant? Go out and pick up Daddy Warbucks. I
don't want to hear about your problems; bring him in."
Another voice spoke, softer, apologetic. Valdez's face
changed. "Oh, shit! All right, all right, I'll hear your ex-
planation." The other voice spoke quickly, too low for
Dade to understand. Valdez listened for a few moments
and then interrupted, saying quietly, "I have listened to
your explanation, sergeant, and you know what I think? In
my opinion, your explanation sucks!" His dark skin
flushed. "Well, find him! I want you to put out an A.P.B.
on him right now!" He tossed the microphone onto the
back seat of the car. "They lost him!" he said. "They lost
him! And you want to know how? Our tail sees Mr.
Welles leave his house in his Rolls and follows him right
down into Beverly Hills to the parking lot at his building.
Mr. Welles takes out a card key and inserts said card key
in a mechanical device, thus gaining admittance. But at
night, said mechanical device is not an arm that goes up
and down in the familiar fashion, it is a grill, a fucking
grill like in front of a castle, and the goddamn thing goes

down and our man is stuck and by the time he wakes up a

janitor to gain access to said building, he ends up alone in
a basement parking lot with nothing to tail but a goddamn
Rolls Royce. Mr. Welles just never comes back again.
Well, haven't you got anything to say?"
"I was thinking of 'Oh, shit!' but you beat me to it"
They walked toward the cliff, watching the men prepar-
ing to hoist equipment down over the precipice. Brandt
 Murder Mystery 197

came running toward Valdez. The two men walked a few

steps away, Brandt talking to him in a low voice, both of
them oblivious of the fact that a mechanic with an acety-
lene torch had now been lifted into the air and hung sus-
pended over their heads for a moment; then, he was
swung out over the cliffside and lowered swiftly into the
chasm. Valdez nodded and strode toward Dade. He put
his hands on his hips and spoke in a scarcely audible
voice. "We've got a problem."
He nodded toward a station wagon with a big sign read-
ing press which had just pulled up. A photographer was
scrambling out, getting his gear together, stringing cameras
and leather pouches over his shoulders while behind h im
the competition in the form of a mobile TV unit was now
parking and a man with a handheld minicam was hurrying
forward.
"Wife doesn't know yet. We have to send somebody
—
over to tell her. I wondered if you ?" He looked steadily
at Dade. Dade's eyes swiveled toward the press, then he
gave Valdez a nod of agreement. Dade went over and
climbed into a squad car. He gave the driver the Ran-
sohoff address and they roared north, lights flashing and
siren blaring as before, shot through the tunnel and sped
through the rest of the canyon to the Ventura Freeway,
where they headed east on the wide ribbon of concrete at
the foot of the Santa Monica mountains separating them
from the Los Angeles basin, to their left, the huge San
Fernando Valley, unusually clear that day because of the
winds, with the high range of the San Gabriels, some of
them snowcapped, bordering the valley on the north. At
the San Diego Freeway, they swung south, climbing up
through the pass. At Sunset, the driver turned east and,
weaving his way as fast as he could through the never-end-
ing traffic, drove the couple of miles to the gates of Bel
Air and then roared up Bellagio, siren wailing.
Dade leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Shut that thing off, will you?" Startled, the driver reacted,
and flicked two switches. The sound of the siren died, like
\
a toy running down. The driver parked the squad car at
the curb, discreetly sliding it alongside a hedge of pitto-
sporum.
198 Murder Mystery
As Dade started up the stairs, he saw a car in the drive-
way: Rachel's. He rang the bell. But when the door swung
back, it was neither Chloe nor Rachel who
answered it.
He found himself looking into Nettie's face.
 XXVI

"Dade," she said. "Come on in. It's so terrible." It took

Dade a moment or two to realize that she meant Gil's dis-
appearance. Then she caught sight of the squad car. Turn-
ing slowly to Dade, she said in a toneless voice that was
lessquestion than statement of fact, "'They found him."
"Yes," Dade said.
"Is he dead?"
"Yes."
"Oh, my God! What happened?"
"We're not sure yet, Nettie."
"Where did they find him?" She glanced apprehensively
behind her at a closed door.
"At the bottom of a cliff. In Malibu."
"Oh, no!"
Somewhere, a door opened and Chloe came down the
hall, saying, "Nettie? Who was —
?" She broke off, seeing
Dade. She looked at them blankly. Nobody said anything
for a moment. Chloe turned at the sound of footsteps be-
hind her. Rachel came down the hall. The silence
lengthened. Chloe, slim in black slacks and a black pull-
over and seeming almost as young as Rachel, put a dis-
tracted hand to her smooth blond hair and looked at all of
them in turn.
The expression drained from the porcelain face. She
took a step toward Dade, stretching out her hand and
touching him lightly, giving him a tremulous little smile, as
if she knew that he was the bearer of ill tidings but that

the tidings, like a punishment reserved for a child, could

be softened by Dade himself, if he chose, so that she must
199
 "

200 Murder Mystery

be careful how she addressed him. The glossy lips parted.
She tried to speak. No sound came out.
She looked around at the others with the same smile,
then looked back at Dade, still trying to speak, but now
there was the glisten of tears rising and welling in the
china-blue eyes. Suddenly she could bear it no longer and
—
with a ragged cry of "Oh, no!" half-crouching in a
woman's self-protective gesture, arms crossed over her
breasts, head averted as if to ward off blows —
she began to
whimper.
Nettie quickly moved to her side, supporting her,
Rachel ran to Chloe and took her hand. Chloe began
slowly wrestling with them, as if with fate. Her eyes
looked beseechingly up at Dade.
"He's not dead, is he?" And when Dade nodded, still
not saying anything, she broke into wild cries of protest,
the two women still holding her, Chloe still struggling to
be free. "What happened to him? Please tell me what hap-
pened to him!"
"It was an accident," Nettie said soothingly. She put a
comforting arm around her shoulders and tried to lead her
away, as if she no longer trusted Chloe to be able to stand
by herself. Rachel looked to the side. Her expression was
unreadable. Nettie said, "Come with me, darling. Come
on, please, please come with me."
"But I want to know—
"He'll come and tell us. Now, let's go sit down." Nettie
led her away.
Rachel released Chloe's hand and stood there, head to
one side, as if hearing something approaching, something
far off but ominous. Her head swung around and she
peered up at Dade, as if through a jalousie. "It wasn't an
accident, was it?"
"No, honey, it wasn't."
Rachel's swift mind went over everything, he could al-
most feel it, the way one feels the sudden, delicate brush
of a blind man's fingers across one's face.
From the other room, they heard Nettie's voice calling.
Dade hurried down the hall, Rachel following him.
Chloe sat in the middle of a small French sofa, Nettie
beside her, holding her hand tightly, pressing it flat against
 Murder Mystery 201
the down cushion with both of hers, Rachel immediately
saton her other side, an arm around her. Chloe*s eyes
were blank, staring straight ahead. She began to shiver vio-
lently.
Dade found a decanter and quickly poured her a drink,
holding it to her lips, making her swallow it, murmuring
to her. He said in a slow, offhand voice, "Doctors say
brandy don't do no good. They've made tests, see. Myself,
I've never known how these tests were conducted. I hap-
pen to think it's the sovereign remedy. Here you are, take
another swallow now."
Chloe relaxed a bit, sitting back and closing her eyes,
the two women still holding on to her. She no longer
struggled but gave herself up now to their creature com-
fort. Dade watched her, waiting for another shock of reali-
zation to jolt her back again to reality. There was no way
of banishing pain. It would have to wear away.
He pulled over a petit-point footstool and sat down in
front of her. She opened her eyes, looking at him with a
trace of apprehension, as if perhaps he were going to bring
her more bad news.
He said gently, "Why don't we just let them excuse us
for a minute and you and me have us a word together,
okay?" Chloe nodded dumbly. Nettie and Rachel rose
slowly, patting Chloe's hands reassuringly. They left the
room.
Dade moved to a seat beside Chloe and took her hand.
It was limp and cold. "See, I got to tell you what hap-

pened, so's you don't end up reading it first in the paper

or some such thing."
She said in an unnaturally low tone, as if having trouble
finding her voice, "Then, there's more. I thought there was
more."
"Now, I want you to be brave. Can you do that for
me?" She nodded. "His car went over a cliff, but he was
shot first."

"He was what?"

"He was shot." She seemed unable to absorb what he
had said. "Somebody shot him? They say somebody shot
him?" She repeated the words as one repeats a rumor. She
 "

202 Murder Mystery

looked around, as if trying to orient herself. "Who shot
him?"
"The sheriff, he's just started his investigation
—
"He's dead?" It hit her all over again. Her voice was a
wail.
"Chloe, I'm so sorry to tell you this."
"Oh, help me, please!"
"I'll do all I can."

"Who did it? Who did it?"

"We'll try to find out You up to answering a few ques-
tions?"
"Yes. Yes, I want to help."
He took her hands. "I want you to cast your mind back
—
for a moment now, I know this is a painful subject for
—
you but I want you to think back to that night of the big
storm, the night Miriam was killed." The ghost of an ex-
pression passed across her face, as slight as a wind scatter-
ing leaves in the garden, and then it was gone. Dade
couldn't be sure but it seemed to him almost malevolent.
Now was expressionless again. Dade
the porcelain face
said almost casually, "You remember, you told me about
your husband's ccwning home and how you pretended to
be asleep in bed?" Her only reply was a slight nod. "But
you saw him come home. You were looking out the win-
dow and you saw his car. Did he get out of the car?"
"No. He drove right into the garage."
"Did he bring anything home with him?"
"I didn't see anything."
"When he came into the bedroom, was he carrying any-
thing, anything at all?"
"No."
"After he came home, did he come right upstairs?"
She tried to think, started to say something and then
shrugged and answered, "I don't know. I suppose so."
"You were in bed?"
"Yes."
"You were waiting for him to come upstairs and find
you in bed, so that he'd think you'd been asleep the whole
time."
"Yes."
 "

Murder Mystery 203

"Can you hear the garage door open and close from the
bedroom?"
"Yes." She remembered now. "Yes, I heard it close.**
"Can you hear the car motor?"
"I heard him shut off the motor." There was life in her
eyes now and the hand Dade had been holding suddenly
tensed. She lifted it, gesturing, trying to remember some-
thing, as if the act of remembering might somehow mean
reprieve, might change the past. She said, "I heard him
shut off the motor and I waited to hear the back door. I
didn't hear it for a few minutes. I worried, about whether
something had happened to him, about why he was just
sitting in the car. I almost went down to him. I forgot
that, Tm sorry. Then, I heard his key in the lock and after
that, he came upstairs very quietly and into the bedroom,"
'Tell me what he did then."
"He got undressed and came to bed."
"How did he look?"
"I didn't look at him. I was pretending to be asleep."
"Describe what he did. Take it slow, now. Go step by
step."
She drew her brows together in an effort to remember.
"He closed the door quietly and I could hear him throwing
down his things, pulling off his jacket and then starting to
get undressed."
"What things was he throwing down?"
"Well, you know, his jacket
—
"You said that first he threw down his things and then
pulled off his jacket. What things did you mean?"
"Well, I guess his hat and his raincoat."
"He wore those upstairs to the bedroom?" Dade looked
at her closely. "On the night of a storm, when they would
have been dripping wet?"
She shook her head impatiently. "I shouldn't have said
that. I don't know what I was thinking of. No, he always
hung his coat and his hat on the hall tree. He was very
methodical."
"In other words, if he went out wearing a hat or a rain-
coat or carrying an umbrella, he always left those things
on the hall tree?"
"That's right"
204 Murder Mystery
"Did he ever leave anything else there?**
"No, he always brought his brief case upstairs."
"Is that what you heard him throw down?"
"I suppose so."
"What was he doing with his brief case?"
"Have you ever seen a doctor or a lawyer without a
brief case?"
"But he wasn't coming home from the office."
"No." She looked at him sharply. "Why does it matter?"
"Where is the brief case now?"
"I—I don't know."
"You haven't seen it?"
"No. I —
suppose he took it with him when he went." At
the memory, she was close to tears again. Dade patted her
hand. She said, trying to explain, "He had a lot of per-
sonal things it in. He never went out without it It was al-
ways in the car when he went out"
"But see here, what you're telling me is, he locked him-
self in the bathroom, turned on the water so you'd think
he was still there and then climbed out the window with
his brief case."
She put her slender fingers to her forehead, frowning
slightly."Maybe he put it in the car first."
"But he didn't leave here in his own car. He went on
foot, remember?"
"I don't know why you're asking me all this!" she
lashed out suddenly, bright spots of anger in her cheeks.
"What do you want?"
He patted her hand in a gentle, apologetic way, then got
to his feet. 'The sheriff, hell be around asking questions.
Sometimes, helps to get things straight first. I'll call the
it

others." Dade excused

himself and walked into the hall.
He could hear voices through an open door.
Nettie and Rachel were sitting in the breakfast room.
Rachel said, "I'll go back in to her." She went out quickly.
Nettie said in a composed voice, "Someone should stay
with her. She shouldn't be left alone at a time like this."
"Yes, I think you're quite right," Dade answered.
"I called the sheriff's. We
have to make funeral arrange-
ments and it's difficult when you don't know how long be-
fore they release the body."
 "

Murder Mystery 205

"Are you going to make them?" Dade asked her.
"Yes, I am." Her two-colored eyes met his gravely.
Rachel's voice called to her. "Excuse me," she said. She
left the room.
In the hall, Dade could see Rachel whispering with Net-
tie. Rachel took Nettie's arm and led her toward Dade,
half whispering to him, "I was just telling Nettie she says
she wants to be alone but I don't think that's good."
Dade said, "I think she ought to get herself away from
this house, don't you?"
"Sometimes it's better to stay and face things," Nettie
said.
Dade shook going to mean
his head. "In this case, that's
reporters. Myself, I think she ought to go stay with her
people. She's got family here, hasn't she?"
Nettie was doubtful. "Well, they're very social and they
never really approved of Gil, so I don't know whether
she'd be comfortable there."
"They have to be told," Dade pointed out.
"Yes. Do you want me to call them?" Rachel asked.
"I think that's a good idea," Dade replied.
Rachel said, "I'll go talk to her about it." She left the
room.
Dade turned to Nettie. 'That car they found him in.
We got word it was registered to you."
She looked at him with her frank Parisian stare. "I lent
it to him."
"Mind telling me why?"
"He came to me for help. He said the police were after
him. they thought he'd killed Miriam. He swore to
He said
me that he hadn't but that he knew who had and he had
ways of forcing that person to help him."
"That all he said?"
"We had no time. He was afraid the police would come
looking for him at my apartment. He was running out to
the car. I ran after him. I tried to stop him. I told him
that you don't go cornering murderers, but he wouldn't lis-
ten. He just drove away and pouf\ he was killed. poor My
dear Gil. Well, he wouldn't listen —
Rachel came back into the room. "She says she'll go."
Nettie said, "I'll go back in to her." She went out.
 "

206 Murder Mystery

Dade said to Rachel, "I want you to pack her things
and get her out of here. In the next hour, understand?"
She nodded. "Come to think of it, what are you doing
here?"
"I called Chloe this morning, just to see how things
were, and when I heard Gil was missing, well, I came
right over. I just had to."
"I understand."
"I haven't called anyone not even Nick."
else,
"It's all right, Rachel. Now,
soon as they pick Chloe
as
up, I want you to get back into your car and skedaddle
out to Old Aunt Mary's or whoever the hell she is and
stay there until I call you." He shook a warning finger at
her and started out.
Rachel opened the front door for him, then set the latch
and followed him outside, closing the door behind her.
He turned, thinking she had something to tell him pri-
vately but all she did was put her arms around him. He
embraced her, stroking her hair.
"Dade?" she said. She searched his face.
"Yes, honey?"
"Where is my father? Do you know?"
He shook his head. "No, Rachel, I don't."
A gust of wind blew her red hair across her face. She
brushed it away. "Nettie said they were looking for him.
The police, I mean. I heard her tell Chloe."
"Yes, Rachel, I know they are."
"Why, Dade?"
'They just want to ask him some questions."
She turned away, frowning. Then, facing him, she said,
"I'm going back to the house and wait for him. After I get
Chloe settled, I'll go to the apartment and pick up some
things and go back to the house. That's the thing to do."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I should just be there." She made an awkward
gesture. "If he tries to reach me
—
"All right."
 XXVII

At six-thirty, Dade was back at the inn. Ellen met him at

the door of their room ,and put her arms around him, say-
ing, "Oh, God, how awfull"
"Yeah." He walked out onto the deck, looking up at the
first stars of dusk. He pointed, saying, "Honey, what
color's that sky?"
"I'd say violet."
"Yeah. That's what I thought. Not
often you see a sky
that color. Kind of a watercolor palette they got down
here." He took a deep breath. "I warned him, honey."
"I know," she said.
"He wouldn't listen." He started to say something and
she shushed him, taking his arm and leading him down
onto the beach and making him sit in the sand. She took
off his shoes and socks. "I was going to take me a bath."
"You don't need a bath." He sighed. She asked, "What
was he doing in Nettie's car?" He repeated what Nettie
had said. She said wonderingly, "How did he ever figure
out who had killed her?"
"I don't know."
"You know, if he'd only told Nettie the name of that
someone."
"Yes. Unless of course that someone was Nettie."
"Oh, for God's sake, Dade!"
"Well, you asked." He looked out at the wide dark ex-
panse of beach, at the dark cardboard mountains, two-di-
mensional against the pale evening sky. "Pretty country."
He hugged her to him, gradually relaxing, letting his eyes
wander across the unbroken horizon. A yacht stood at an-
207
208 Murder Mystery
chor off the coast. It was strung with lights and the crew
was scrambling in the rigging, furling the sails. He said, "I
ever tell you this place sold for ten cents an acre back in
1857?"
"No."
"You want Chinese? Szechuan? That vinegar-based soup
and the duck smoked with tea leaves and roasted over
cedar?"
"Nope."
"What do you want, Ellen?"
"Lobster."
"Where?"
"Here. It's going to rain. Isn't that wonderful? I bought
the lobsters."
"Show me."
'They're in the tub. We'll have a fire and watch The
Maltese Falcon. It's on tonight. Very late."
"How soon's dinner?"
"You tell me." They went back inside. He stomped into
the bathroom. When he came out again, buttoning himself
into a fresh shirt, it had started to rain. His face changed.
Picking up the phone, he called the Welles house. When
Rosarita answered, he told her his name and said he
wanted to come up and look at something in the house.
"I'm Mrs. Welles' executor," he said in slow Spanish,
"abogado. Comprende?"
"Si, senor."
He put down the phone, pulling on his raincoat.
"You're not going out again!"
"Just for half an hour."
"But it's raining!"
"I've got to find something out."
"What?"
"Jensen's a rich man. If he wanted to disappear, he
could afford to walk out of that house with nothing. Ex-
cept for one thing. His code key. Without it, he'd be in a
lot of trouble. Now, I happen to know where he kept it.
And I want to know if he took it with him." He hurried
out.
As he left the inn, the rain got harder. He timed the
drive to the Welles house. It was, as Pete had said, just ex-
 Murder Mystery 209

actly ten minutes. The downpour was

clean, straight lit by
the glow from the windows. Rosarita him in.
let

"I want to go up to Mr. Welles' room, if you don't

mind."
She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then said.
The senor is away."
"Yes, I know. I just want to see his room." Not waiting
for an answer, Dade strode toward the stairway, Rosarita
following him, twisting her hands.
"Maybe you come back another time, sefiorV* she said.
"This won't wait," he answered briefly. He went up the
stairs two at a time, Rosarita running along after him. At
the top of the stairs to the right was Jensen's room. He
opened the door.
The room was in perfect order. The bed was made. It
was carved oak, a fourposter with a carved wooden can-
opy. The heavy red velvet draperies were drawn and he
sensed that, behind them, the shutters were closed. The
room contained very little furniture, only a carved oak
armchair, a carved armoire and what looked like an Irish
hunt breakfast table which served as a desk. It was made
in the shape of a horseshoe and behind it was a tall,
uncomfortable-looking oak chair, also heavily carved.
Dade went over to the desk. It contained one drawer,
facing the chair which stood in the desk well. The drawer
was secured by an old-fashioned lock. He looked in Jen-
sen's bathroom, found a pair of tweezers and a nail file
and, while Rosarita watched uneasily, picked the lock and
opened the drawer. It contained only a few letters and
mementos, nothing even remotely resembling a code key.
Closing the drawer, he stared into space for a moment.
Then, abstracted, his eyes half closed, he opened the
door connecting Jensen's room with Miriam's. Her bed
was to the right of the door, near the windows. Standing
where he was, he could not see it He walked into her
room and looked around and saw the down comforter
neatly folded at the foot of the carved quattrocento bed,
the heavy draperies drawn. The dark ornate furniture was
dusted and polished. It gleamed in the lamplight. The soft
colors of the antique Kirman rug glowed up at him. Ev-
210 Murder Mystery
erything was in readiness, as if the room itself expected
Miriam, waited for her.
Dade stood some moments. Rosarita waited
there for
hands folded. Finally he went out the door of
patiently,
Miriam's room, Rosarita following, and into the upper
hall.
He looked around, remembering the basic design of the
upstairs. Miriam's and Jensen's bedrooms were in the cen-
ter. Beyond Jensen's was Jensen's study and after that a
service staircase gave access to the kitchen and Rosarita's
bedroom. Turning, he walked past Miriam's bedroom,
Rachel's old room and room —
and two other guest
a guest
rooms across the hall —toward
Miriam's study over the
game room at the end of the hall, then turned a corner
and went down the stairs to the rear hall which led to the
garage.
Just then, the phone rang and Rosarita hurried away to
answer it. He walked on down to the game room. As he
went into the room, suddenly there was a sharp bang! at
the plate glass window. He reacted, saw that it was a bird
which had flown into it and now lay stunned on the lawn
just outside, its head to one side. Picking up a bell on the
bar, he rang it and Rosarita came in the room. She gave
him a sudden, lovely smile.
"You people have a cat?" he asked.
"A cat?" she frowned.
"Yes. Is there a cat on the premises?"
The red cat, senorV
"Any cat You out there " She
see, there's that bird
—
followed his eyes to the window. "Ran into the window."
He pantomimed a blow to the head.
A quick intake of breath showed him that she under-
stood. She went out a side door, gathered up the stunned
bird and came back into the house with it
Dade said, following her, "You put it in your room and
it'll come to and fly all over the place."

"Garage," she said briefly. He followed her down the

back hall and through a door into the garage where she set
the bird down on the concrete floor and opened a window
giving onto a cliff over the sea, gesturing at it and wiping
her hands dry with her skirt.
 Murder Mystery 211
"You woman," he said to her. He
are a very resourceful
wasn't sure whether she understood him but she knew that
he had paid her a compliment and she rewarded him with
a dark, luminous smile.
He hesitated, seeing something. A buff-colored raincoat
hung on a peg, a hooded Burberry. He examined it. There
were faint brownish stains on the front: bloodstains.
"Is the one she wear that night, senor" she said softly.
Dade nodded. He searched the pockets, finding a button.
Jensen Welles' name was inked on the label of an inside
pocket. He put the button back where he had found it.
"Nobody say have it cleaned.'*
He turned away slowly. She held the door into the
house open for him. He glanced around the garage, empty
now except for Miriam's car, then accompanied Rosarita
back into the house. He stood in the rear hall, an abstract-
ed look on his face.
The phone rang again. Rosarita excused herself and
went off to answer it. Dade went back into the game
room. He started toward the gallery, intending to let him-
self out, when Rosarita came into the room, gesturing. She
picked up a phone on the bar and offered it to him. "You
talk. This man, he does not understand me. Twice now he
calls."
Dade took the receiver and said into it, "My name is
Cooley.Can I help you with something?"
A man's voice said, "Mr. Welles there?"
"Not at the present."
'This here's Fred Dix. You know if he's expecting me
tonight?"
"As I say, he's not here. I wonder if you can tell me ?" —
"Thank you so much." Click.
He said good night to Rosarita and walked out to the
car. He looked up at the dark sky. The rain had stopped.
The skies were washed clean and a sickle moon showed
him shreds of cloud and polished stars. He got into the
car, sighing. Then, squaring his shoulders, he took a deep
breath and drove back to the inn.
In the parking lot, he ran into Pete, who was bringing a
large pot from the kitchen down to Ellen.
"I found out," Pete said. 'They give me my job back
212 Murder Mystery
because some big guy's wife called up." Pete grinned at
him knowingly.
They got into the funicular together and started down.
Dade said, "You've been a great help and when my
business here is done, I'll buy you a drink. I'll show you
how to make an Old Fashioned."
"I don't drink alcoholic beverages."
"Not at alir
"No, sir."
"Oh, that's very bad."
"It is?"
"It's the nondrinkers who become alcoholics. Proven
fact."
"I never heard that"
**Time somebody told you.*
"I don't understand it"
"I'll explain it to you. A
gentleman, he knows his capac-
ity. But nondrinkers never give themselves any chance to

find out, and that's why they end up the way they do. Talk
to any alcoholic and you'll find that, once upon a time, he
started life as a bona fide nondrinker."
Ellen opened the door, Pete handed her the pot, waved
good nighkand ran off.
Dade came in, grim-faced.
"Was it there?"
"No."
"Oh, Dade."
"I'll tell you something. I almost wish it had been. As
is . .
." He trailed off.
"Valdez called. He's on his way over."
Dade mixed himself an Old Fashioned and sat down in
front of the fire Ellen had built for him. The phone rang.
A voice said, "This is Mary at the desk. The sheriff is in
the lobby."
him quietly." There was a loud click in
"Just go with
his ear followed by a buzzing sound. Dade put down the
phone, sipped his drink and then went to the door and let
in Valdez. Dade gave him his imitation of an old lady's
smile. "Well, what brings you to visit a lonely old shut-in
at this hour?"
"Just cut the crap."
 Murder Mystery 213
"Manners, manners," Ellen murmured from across the
passthrough.
Valdez mumbled an apology, then turned on Dade:
"Okay, we're ready to hear Welles* proposition.**
"You speak as if I were in touch with him, Lieutenant."
"I'm just saying, should you happen to find yourself in
—
communication with Mr. Welles say, just after I leave
—
here give him a little message for me, will you do that?"
"What message?**
"Tell him we've identified the murder weapon."
"I think you*d better explain that.**
"Gil Ransohoff was shot at close range with a thirty-
eight. Bullet entered the right ear, traveling through the
brain. Killed him instantly. Bullet itself was recovered
from brain-case of deceased. Only one shot was fired. Bul-
let was given routine test by ballistics. Jensen Welles, Mr,
Cooley, was a crack shot."
"You have not been describing a triumph of marksman-
ship."
"Just hear me out, please. It is well-known that Jensen
Welles isan excellent marksman. What is perhaps not so
well known is that he has a target-practice range in the
basement of that big house. Quite an impressive collection
of guns as well, all oiled, all in their cases mounted on the
walls. Our men went through that place with a fine-
toothed comb. They gathered together all the thirty-eight
slugs from the targets and ran checks on every thirty-eight
in the place. Among those slugs, ballistics found a number
that matched up with the slug they dug out of Ransohoff.
And they couldn't find a gun there which fired those
matching slugs. You see my point?"
"That doesn't prove that the missing gun is the murder
weapon. All you're telling me is that the gun which killed
Ransohoff was once fired in the basement of the Welles
house, on a target-practice range to which he might have
invited anyone. If that were the case and his guest brought
his own gun, that would explain why no gun matches
those slugs." Dade's eyes flickered over the lieutenant's
face.
Valdez nodded somberly. "Yeah. Excepting that there's
214 Murder Mystery
an empty gun case on the wall, just the size of a Webly
thirty-eight."
"I see.That doesn't mean the missing gun is the
presumed murder weapon."
"Nice try. I can't blame you for tryiag. But I'm afraid
it's a pretty damaging case."

"All right, let's say the murder weapon was taken from
the collection of Jensen Welles. You haven't yet been able
to show who took it."
"In other words, you'd like us to catch Mr. Welles in the
act of firing the same gun at someone else?"
"I'd like you to be sure of your ground. By the way,
what was the motive?"
"It goes like this. Welles tumbled to his wife's game,
caught her about to run off with the painting and killed
her on the spot He hid the painting, and when we called
it an accident he figured nobody would ever know. Ran-

sohoff figured it out and tried to brace Welles for a ton of

—
money to keep his mouth shut and Welles shut it for him
for good. We
know his game now. Wefles', I mean. Welles
figures he can plea bargain with that painting. Ten million
dollars' worth of French national art treasure could buy
him a lesser charge, that's his thinking, right? Wrong. Tve
been authorized by the D.A. to say, No deal."
There was a loud knocking at the door. Dade called
out, "Come in."
The door banged open and Brandt burst into the room,
breathless. He looked as if it were a stronghold he had just
stormed. Then, to Valdez, he said, 'It's that kid! The
Greek!" Seeing their blank faces, he said, 'The boyfriend!
Levin, his name is."
"Russian," Dade said.
That big guy works out aH the time Fm talking about
—
Called up. Got me on the phone now, just listen to
this —and said the old man showed up at his apartment
with a gun and tried to kill him, the kid lit out, promised
to wait for us, we tore ass and got up there in five
—
minutes some bar where he called from but he cut out —
— —
of there bartender remembers him and 111 put my pee-
pee on the line, that ties this thing up, Jesus Christ, lady, I
just didn't see you." The sunburned face got redder. Turn-
 Murder Mystery 215

ing to Valdez, Brandt said, "We went to the house figuring

Welles had sneaked back. Maid let us in. We searched it
again. Nothing. I thought maybe that lawyer had tried to
reach him and maybe he did because she says some man
called him twice tonight."
'That was a Mr. Dix," Dade said. "I was there both
times. Mr. Dix does not talk like the Harvard Law School."
"Well, who is he?" Valdez asked.
Ellen said, "He's the Pinkerton man." They looked at
her. "I saw his name on his badge that night we were
there. I remembered because I thought of Richard Dix."
With a quick intake of breath, Dade seized the phone
book, looked up Pinkerton's, dialed a number and asked
for Mr. Dix.
"This Dix," a voice said.
is

"My name is Cooley. I talked to you tonight when you

called the Welles house."
"Mr. Welles, he ready for me now?"
"He said he wanted you?"
"Yes, sir, he did. He called last night."
"When?"
"Eight-thirty, sir. Asked me to be at the house last night
at nine o'clock. When I nobody was home. I
got there,
waited in the car until ten p.m. but he didn't show up.
That's why I called. I thought maybe he meant tonight."
"It's not tonight, either, Mr. Dix. But thank you very

much." Dade put down the phone. The others were all
staring at him.
Ellen said, "Why on earth call a Pinkerton man when
he was by himself?"
"That's exactly the reason," Dade said. "There were no
servants. Rosarita had the night off. He's got all his finest
things in that lock room and he wasn't fool enough to
have it open when he was alone in the house." Dade
turned to Valdez. "But something else bothers me. Does it
strike you as odd that Welles made an appointment at
eight-thirty and then decided instead to shoot his wife's
lover and went barreling out of there ten minutes later?"
Valdez and Brandt exchanged looks. "When did you last
search that lock room?" Dade asked.
 '

216 Murder Mystery

"Well, the insurance people were in there Wednesday —
Brandt said.
Dade turned to Valdez. "Search it now," he said,
Valdez grabbed for the phone.
 XXVIII

When Dade and Ellen arrived at the Welles house, the

lights were on and the house was conspicuous by the flash-
ing blue and red glow from a squad car's slowly revolving
turret Lieutenant Valdez met them at the door with a
deputy, ushering them into the hall and then down the
wide gallery to the library.
Valdez said, "Maid's in her room. Thought she might
know something, but she doesn't. Spent Friday and Satur-
day nights in town with her family. Been here since this
morning. We
called the attorney for the combination. He's
on his way."
Ten minutes later, Ballinger arrived. His thin iron-gray
hair was carefully brushed, the thick lips were drawn into
a reproving line, the protuberant eyes behind the thick
glasses had a moist, injured look. He wore a pin-striped
gray suit with a vest and a muted tie. His black shoes were
not the fashionable slipons everyone wore but were laced
and had closed vents. Everything about him was conserva-
tive except for his fingernails, which were not only highly
polished but slightly rouged. On the little finger of his left
hand, he wore a platinum ring set with a diamond. Dade
feltan impulse to tap it with a forefinger and shake his
head.
Ballinger said in a dry voice reminiscent of old papers
rustling, which immediately told everyone he was not a
triallawyer, "I think we ought to have a court order." \

"Why is that?" asked Dade.

"This is private property, sir. I don't have the author-
ity—"
217
218 Murder Mystery
"The law gives you authority in cases where you must
act to prevent a crime."
"Courts are divided on that interpretation. Myself, I see
no probable cause of crime."
"You opened the lock room the day after the death of
Mrs. Welles in compliance with a request from the insur-
ance company as part of a general search of the premises,
to see whether anything was missing."
'That search has already been conducted."
"But not concluded. Now, as the executor for Miriam
Welles, I have decided that it is in the best interest of my
open that lock room."
late client's estate to
"You assume all responsibility for this, sir." Ballin-
will
ger glanced around at the others, to make sure they had
heard this.
Dade crossed to the center of the wall at one end of the
room, where he stood waiting. Surrendering, Ballinger fol-
lowed him, touching the corner of a gilt-framed portrait of
a young girl hung on the wall. It swung out, revealing the
recessed dial and handle of the lock-room door. Ballinger
took a slip of paper from a vest pocket and, studying the
numbers, turned the big dial to the right, stopping at a
number. The three deputies, the lieutenant and Ellen
watched this performance. Behind them, Rosarita entered
the room quietly, and stood at the door, waiting.
Ballinger now
turned the dial carefully to the left,
glancing at his paper again. He turned the dial one more
time, then slowly put the slip of paper back into his vest
pocket, grasped the handle and pressed it down. That part
of the wallpapered wall with the girl's portrait on it now
revealed a door. Ballinger swung it open. Inside, a
itself as
spotlight was on, shining toward them. A
Chinese screen
cut off their view. Over it, they could see a large room
bathed in the glow from the spotlight.
There was a handle on the inside of the door. Valdez
pointed at it and threw an inquiring look at Ballinger, who

said, "He sometimes works in here. That was installed so

he wouldn't be disturbed."
The lieutenant had taken out his gun. Motioning all of
them back, he said in a loud voice, "This is the sheriff.
Jensen Welles, if you're in there I want you to come out
 Murder Mystery 219

with your hands raised. Otherwise, we're coming in after

you. I will count to ten." He began counting.
Ignoring him, Dade pushed by him and entered the
room, making his way around the lacquered screen. Val-
dez, still counting, reached out to grab him but Dade was
too quick for him.
In the hollow square of the center of the big lock room
stood an easel with a canvas on it, its back to the door.
Now, he caught sight of the painting for the first time. It
was a portrait of a young woman, scarcely more than a
girl. Dade thought of Danae, whom Zeus had visited in a

shower of gold. The shawl worn over her dark hair and
her full shoulders, a shawl fine as Egyptian linen, was all
dusted with dull gold. The necklace was gold. The huge
silken sleeves were slashed with gold. The baroque pearl
clasp which held the shawl to her hair was set in thick
gold. And under the spreading dark wings of the thick soft
hair, her complexion was suffused with the glow of gold,
as if she had been painted sitting in a room sparkling with
treasure. The expression itself was extraordinary. The
young girl's lips seemed to tremble in apprehension, and
the pupils of the large dark eyes were dilated with excite-
ment. A
long-fingered hand touched her breast as if she
were about to protest her innocence. She was a woman
taken by surprise. It was Raphael's "La Fornarina."
And there, apparently lost in contemplation before this
vision, was Jensen Welles. He was sitting in a velvet wing
chair. At his right elbow, a very small Duncan Phyfe
candle table had been tipped over and a large brandy
snifter now lay on the floor on the Shiraz rug, its contents
spilled except for a small amber pool at the bottom of the
bell. Jensen's head rested in the corner of the chair back.
The eyes stared not at the painting but at Dade's shoes, as
if Jensen had known that this was going to come, as if he
now acknowledged defeat, as if he had known that this
was how it must end. The adjustable spotlight on the stand
behind him was aimed over his head, so that although it
bathed the painting and the open doorway of the lock
room behind it in a warm glow, it shadowed Jensen, even
played tricks with his sardonic expression, deepening the
ironic lines around the mouth, so that it was not until
220 Murder Mystery
Dade took another step that he could see the neat bullet
hole in the temple, the thin line of blood. gun lay on A
the floor just below his right hand.
Dade turned. The lieutenant was standing beside him,
Brandt next to him. Seeing Ballinger about to enter, Val-
dez said, "Everybody out Seal off this room. Get the
camera crew up here and the fingerprint men before we
do anything else." Dade walked out, Valdez beside him.
Brandt was telling the others in a low voice what had hap-
pened. All of them went into the breakfast room and had
coffee in silence.
Dade tried to reach Rachel at the number she had given
him where she had been staying in San Marino and at her
apartment. Neither number answered. Finally, they went
back into the library.
Suddenly the room had come to life. The fingerprint
men had arrived and were dusting the furniture. A photog-
rapher loaded down with equipment bustled in from the
hall, the coroner was unpacking his bag and a young black
deputy with the shoulders of a football player ran in and
said, "Lieutenant, the media people are here."
"Keep them out. No questions, no answers." The deputy
ran back out and they could hear him calling out the lieu-
tenant's instructions. Valdez turned to Dade, and said, "I
guess there's no point in your hanging around."
Ballinger swayed on his feet, looking pale. He sat down
in a tufted armchair. Seeing this, Valdez gestured and said,
"Hey! Somebody help him!" A deputy ran over and held
his arm. The coroner pulled what looked like a small roll
of gauze out of his bag and went over to Ballinger, break-
ing the thing in one hand and holding it under his nose.
The smell of ammonia fumes filled the room. Valdez said
to the deputies, "Okay, it's a wrap."
Dade said, "Is it?"
"Christ, we've just been handed a confession. At least
that's how I read it. We'll review it, of course, before we
go on record."
"I'll be grateful if you'll let me know your findings."

Valdez gave Ellen and Dade a nod and was about to go

back into the lock room when Dade touched his arm, say-
 Murder Mystery 221

ing, "Meanwhile, I remind you that that painting in there

remains my responsibility.**
"Don't you ever give up?"
Dade and Ellen walked to the door, Valdez accompany-
ing them.
Rosarita was standing there, hands folded over her
apron, face impassive. Valdez touched her arm. "Hola!"
he said. She nodded mutely. "Lo siento," he said. She
nodded vigorously then turned away, but not before they
had caught the glint of tears in her dark eyes.
Valdez said to Dade, "See, I knew you could find him if
you wanted to."
The coroner came up to Valdez and said, "Any of your
guys knock that glass over?** At a look from Valdez, the
coroner said impatiently, "All right, I didn't think so. It
looks to me as if the stuff might have spilled on his hand,
which would tend to screw up a gun-residue test but I
don't think we're going to need one. That's all until I get
him downtown. Talk to me tomorrow. Late."
"Tonight,*' Valdez said.
"It's still Sunday, lieutenant."
"You put somebody on it Priority. That's downtown
talking."
"What are we supposed to be looking for?"
"You tell me."
"Guy's dead of a gunshot wound," said the coroner.
"Self-inflicted. What is it, lieutenant? You think somebody
poisoned him or drugged him? It's nothing like that. I'll do

your P.M. I'll do it, I'll do it. But I'm telling you right
now you'll come up with nothing."
"How about the time of death? Want to give me a
guess?"
"Sometime last night Room's air-conditioned. On the
cold side, you know what I mean? Could be anywhere be-
tween eight and twelve."
"It wasn't eight," Valdez said.
"All right, so you already know, so don't ask me.
Maybe I can come closer after I open him up, but right
now I doubt it." He gestured. "Tell the photoplay boys to
hurry it up. They've got more than they need and I don't
222 Murder Mystery
want to be up all night long." The coroner gave them a
brusque nod and strode out the door.
"Sons of bitches," Valdez said. "I mean it. All the M.E.s
I've ever known. And the same goes for the lawyers." He
caught himself. "No hard feelings, okay?"
"No hard feelings," Dade said. He caught sight of Jen-
sen's belongings, which had been taken out of his pockets
and laid on a table. Among them Dade saw what looked
like a metallic credit card engraved with a sequence of
numbers.
Valdez squinted at it. "What is that?"
"A code key."
"Come again?"
"From the way it looks, he never went back upstairs."
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing." Dade seemed lost in thought
"What is it?" Ellen said.
He shook hishead. Something bothered him. He
couldn't say what it was. Turning, her arm still in his, he
headed back down the hall toward the library, calling out
to Valdez, "I want to see something in there."
"Go ahead," Valdez said.
Dade went back into the lock room, crowding past fin-
gerprint men and the camera crew. Dade stopped in front
of the Raphael. He frowned.
Valdez said, "What's the matter?"
Dade squinted at the scene, at the painting which stood
on the lighted easel in the otherwise dim room, incongru-
ously placed so that the spotlight over Jensen's head spilled
over the gilded frame of the Raphael and onto the metal
door of the lock room and wall of the adjacent metal stor-
age cabinets visible above the Chinese screen.
Valdez said again, "What's the matter?"
Dade said, "I don't know what the hell I came back in
here for." He started out, then hesitated, turning to Ellen.
"You know something," he said, pointing. "There's the Bot-
ticelli. And with all this" ——
he searched for a descriptive
word and couldn't find one "with all this going on, I just
realized something. We haven't even gotten a look at it
It'll probably outlast all our sorrows and we've never seen

it."
 Murder Mystery 223
Valdez turned to the photographers and fingerprint men
and, gesturing at the Raphael said, "Can I move this?"
Two gloved technicians came forward and wordlessly
lifted the painting from the easel, set it down carefully and
then lifted the Botticelli from its hooks. They carried it
over and placed it on the easel in front of Jensen's body.
It was a much larger painting and they held on to it after-
ward to make quite sure it was balanced on the stand,
then stepped back.
Dade looked at the Botticelli. This was not the Venus of
the Primavera nor was it the Venus of the Birth. It did not
really seem like a Venus at all. Instead, it was as if Bot-
ticelli had anticipated Lourdes, and what one now saw was
the Virgin through the eyes of the astonished children.
Dade turned to Ellen.
"What do you think, honey? Just fills the room, doesn't
it? When it's there, I can't seem to see anything else."

"Well, / can!" Ellen said with a shocked glance at the

body sprawled in the chair. "What's the matter with you?"
She took his arm and pulled him out of the room.
They left the house, as an ambulance and several squad
cars were just arriving, turret lights rotating slowly. Out-
side the gates, reporters had begun to gather. Lights had
been set up and were turned on as they came out the
door. Minicams were lifted and aimed at them from a dis-
tance. A horn blew. A deputy made the crowd move to
one side. The gates opened and they saw Rachel's car driv-
ing toward them. The car stopped and Rachel got out of it
carrying her suitcase, looking around bewildered.
Seeing Dade and Ellen, she started toward them, then
stopped abruptly when she saw the ambulance. She stood
there frozen to the spot for a moment. Then, dropping the
suitcase, she lowered her head and ran straight at Dade,
arms outstretched. She seized the front of his jacket and
began to scream hysterically, "Is it Nick? Is it Nick?"
"No, it's not Nick," he said softly. He took hold of her
arms. She sagged in his grasp, letting out a little cry of re-
lief.
"Iwarned him. He called me at the apartment and told
me what had happened, I mean with Dad. I said, 'Go
away. Go away until they find him.' " She caught sight of
224 Murder Mystery
something over her shoulder and the hands on his coat
on her face. He turned and saw
tightened, a look of alarm
the ambulance attendants carrying a stretcher toward the
house. Her eyes searched his, fearful, questioning.
"It's your father," he said.
"Is it bad?"

"Yes."
Rachel pressed her hands to her mouth, stifling a whim-
pering sound.
Ellen said softly, "He's gone, Rachel."
"He's—gone?"
"He's dead," Ellen said. "Come on, sit down." Ellen led
her over to a bench in the Japanese garden. Rachel looked
back, uncomprehending, at Dade. He followed them.
"How did he die?" Her voice was wondering. She sat
down, her eyes round.
Dade answered, "Now, just take it easy."
"Where did they find him?"
"Here," he answered.
"You mean he came back?"
"He was in the lock room," Dade said. 'The painting
was there."
"The painting," echoed Rachel, as she did not remem-
if
ber the painting or could not for the moment see any con-
nection. Then she seemed to realize what he was saying
and said, "Oh, the painting!" Then the same bewildered
look came into her eyes and she asked, "What was he do-
ing in the lock room?"
"He shot himself," Ellen said gently.
"I see." Her face was blank for a moment, then she
reacted with disbelief. "He shot himself? Then, that means
. .
."She trailed off.
"There isn't any way to make it easy," Dade said.
"Why don't you come back to the inn with us?" Ellen
said.
Rachel shook her head, asking, "Is he—in there now?"
"Yes." Ellen put an arm around her.
Rachel got up. "I'll go in to him."
"Why do that?" Ellen asked.
"I have to."
"There's no point in it," Dade said. "Don't"
 Murder Mystery 225
"But it isn't right —
just to leave him there!"
"Please don't go in there now," Dade said.
Ellen said, "He wouldn't want you to. Just go up to
your room, Rachel. Do you want me to stay with you?"
"No, it's all right." Rachel turned away, a look of disbe-
lief still haunting her eyes. She turned back toward them.
"Did he suffer?"
"No," Dade answered.
"Are they sure?"
"He didn't suffer, honey."
"My God. My God." Her voice was expressionless. She
started toward the house with them. Rosarita was waiting
in the doorway. She came forward and took Rachel's arm.
Rachel looked at her and patted her hand, as if Rosarita
were the one who needed comforting. Rachel said, "I was
—
sure that if he once got to know Nick but he's not going
to now, is he?" Then she began to cry quietly. "I want
Nick!" she kept saying, "I want Nick!"
Ellen went to her and, with Rosarita's help, led her up-
stairs to her bedroom and put her to bed. Dade went into
the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. It was half an
hour before Ellen was able to leave Rachel, She came
downstairs and took the drink from Dade's hand, helping
herself to a large swallow from it. She clutched his arm.
"Let's go home, honey," he said.
"Yes. Oh, God, Dade."
Back at the inn, Dade was uncommunicative.
Ellen said, "It's over."
"Is it?"
"Dade, go of it." It was almost eleven. She made
let
him get inbed and offered to heat some broth for him.
His answer was a low snore. She poured herself some
milk, turned out the lights and got into bed. Dade was
restless. He tossed and turned and mumbled, half-asleep.
She stroked his broad smooth forehead, kissing it
"Go to sleep," she murmured. "It's all right."
Dade dreamed. He heard a voice speaking. It was rapid,
incoherent. He strained to make sense of the words but
could not quite hear them. Then he was at a high school
performance of Our Town with Abigail playing Emily.
Miriam was in it with her, playing her mother. After that,
226 Murder Mystery
he dreamed he was in the stacks at the library, searching •

for a book. He could not find it. Many books had been,
checked out and the shelves in that section were almost
empty. After that came several brief dreams in rapid suc-
cession and he was aware in some part of himself that he
was dreaming and that all these dreams were the same
dream.
Then he was wide awake. He was thirsty. He got out of
bed to get himself a glass of milk and fell over a chair, let-
ting out a yell of pain, grabbing his shin and cursing.
Ellen sat up, turning on the tubular reading light over her
side of the bed. In the pool of light, he saw the chair lying
on its side on the rug and straightened it up. He frowned
in thought
"What is it? Dade?"
"The light." There was a faraway look in his eyes.
"Dade?"
"I said something. About the Botticelli. What was it?"
"I don't know."
He sat down on
the edge of the bed, running his fingers
through his matted hair. "They put that picture up on the
easel for us and I said what?" —
"I think you said something about how beautiful it
was." He grunted. She said, getting up, "1*11 pour you
some milk. Come back to bed." She brought him a full
glass and he drained it thirstily, then fell fast asleep and
did not dream anymore.
In the morning, Dade had his dip in the ocean, then as
Pete entered with breakfast, the phone rang. Dade an-
swered it. "Hello?"
'This here's Motke."
"Hello, Arnie," Dade said, gesturing at Ellen.
"Just set it down here," Ellen said to Pete. He put down
the tray and pulled a paperback out of his pocket.
"I can't read this, lady."
"One second, Arnie," Dade said.
"I tried."
"I'll tell him," Ellen said.
what he and want to
—
"I appreciated
him " said Pete.
it, did, I just tell

Dade looked at Pete. "Would you excuse me, please?"

 Murder Mystery 227

"Go right ahead, sir."

Ellen took Pete's arm and led him to the door.
Dade spoke into the phone. "Okay, Arnie, what you
got?"
"He's a cute guy. Real cute." Motke's voice had no car-
rying power at all. When he spoke, the sound seemed to
come only from his mouth, with no resonance. Dade pic-
tured him now, the ferret face expressionless, the thin lips
scarcely moving. Dade listened, absorbed, as Motke said,
"Levin started out with a hundred grand a few months
ago. Been doing business all over town with lots of bro-
kers. That's the key to all this. He makes money, all right.
Lots of money. But he also loses money."
Instantly suspicious, Dade said, "How much, Arnie?"
"Exactly as much as he makes."
"Jackpot," Dade said, under his breath.
"That's it. Guy bets against himself. Buys puts as well as
calls. Can!t lose. 'Course, he can't win, neither. That tell
you what you wanted to know?"
'That tells me what I didn't want to know." Dade
sighed. "See you when we get back to the city, Arnie."
"So long."
Dade put down the phone and began wolfing down
toast and bacon.
"What was that all about?" Ellen asked.
He told her, talking with his mouth full. "Surprised?"
"I've never met him, remember. But poor Rachel you —
have to tell her, of course."
"Yes." The phone rang again. Valdez identified himself
needlessly. Dade growled, "Morning."
"I've got the preliminaries from ballistics and the
coroner. Welles killed himself with the same gun used to
kill the lover, Gil Ransohoff. We
figure it this way: Welles
took his car to his office and left it behind that grill to get
rid of the tail, picked up a company car there, drove it to
Malibu Canyon to meet Ransohoff, then drove down
through the canyon to the market. We found it in the
parking lot there, which is just beside the creek. He
walked on the footpath along the creek down to the ocean
at the Colony, then north along the beach back up to his
own house. That was so he could sneak back in without
228 Murder Mystery
our tail spotting him. Must have decided to kill himself
then. It tracks, all right. Shoes on the body muddy. Foot-
prints found on the matching the shoes. But here's the
trail
clincher: Welles is a fastidious man. He must have wiped
the frame clean. Only two sets of fingerprints on that
—
painting RansohofF s and Welles'. That's it."
"You're going on record saying that?"
•"You've got it. I wanted to break it to the daughter first.
I mean, to let her know it's official. I just called there. I
didn't get to talk to her. She's got two women friends there
helping her. Maybe you'd like to her for me."
tell

"What friends?"
"Mrs. Ransohoff and that French lady —uh, Mrs.
Proulx."
The name Proulx conjured up an image of a gallery in
his mind's eye, Nettie's, Jensen's, the lock room, and sud-
denly the image of the bare stage in Our Town. In that in-
stant, he understood his dream.
"Valdez! I want you to meet me there with Tillie Monk-
haus. And if her husband's out of the hospital, bring him
along. Will you do that, please?"
"Just what the hell for?"
"I also want a wiretap on the house."
"We can't get one and you know it."
"The FBI can. And they're involved because of the art
theft. Now, do what you, otherwise those scrambled
I tell
eggs on your cap are going to end up all over your face."
Dade banged down the phone.
 XXIX

Ten minutes later when Dade and Ellen got to the Welles
house, Rosarita showed them into the breakfast room.
Nettie, Chloe and Rachel were at the table together having
coffee.
Rachel said, "Thank you for coming. Have you had
breakfast?"
"We don't need anything," Ellen said.
"Have something, please," Rachel said. She glanced at
Rosarita, who nodded and left the room.
Nettie said, "You're the one who ought to eat some-
thing."
"I can't."
"You heard from Nick?" Dade asked. Rachel shook her
head. "You know where he is?"
"No."
"How do you plan to get in touch with him?"
"He said he'd call."
"When?"
'Today sometime. This already on the news,
is isn't it?"

"No," Chloe said, "but it will be."

"He'll hear it. He'll call as soon as he does."
Ellen changed the subject and began talking about
gardening. She continued talking about gardening while
Rosarita brought in an omelet platter, sausages and toast,
and went on talking about gardening all through breakfast,
meanwhile managing to get Rachel to eat.
As they were finishing, Rachel heard the gate bell and
rang for Rosarita, who went to the intercom. When she
came back, Rachel asked, "Who is it?"

229
230 Murder Mystery
"Is the sheriff, senorita."
"Then we'd better all go into the library," Rachel said,
rising.
Chloe said uneasily, "Why is he here?"
"I suppose I have to sign things. You know, so they'll
release the body. I don't know." They glanced out the win-
dow and saw a couple of squad cars driving toward the
house.
Nettie said calmly, "Well get it over with as soon as
possible. Come on." She took Rachel's arm and all of
them started to leave the room. Then Nettie hesitated,
seeing something. In the driveway, Valdez was ap-
proaching, followed by two deputies and a man and a
woman. Nettie said, "Isn't that Mrs. Monkhaus? I remem-
ber they showed her picture on the news after the shoot-
ing." Her husband was with her. He was white and drawn
and he clutched her arm for support, walking stiffly. Nettie
said, "Why are they here?"
Chloe said, suddenly shaken, "I don't know. I don't
want to see them. Do you mind?"
"No, of course not," Rachel said. "Why are they here?"
All of them went down the hall and into the library,
where another deputy was standing guard in front of the
lock room. Nettie and Chloe sat down near Rachel. Ellen
went over to a small chair and sat down by herself. Dade
remained standing.
Tillie and Monkhaus entered the room. Tillie was
dressed in a flowered print. She looked around at all of
them with her wide, clear eyes. Addressing herself to
Dade, she said in a husky voice, 'The lieutenant told
me—"
Dade gestured toward the sofa. Tillie and Monk sat
down and looked up at him. Dade said, "Oh, forgive me.
—
Miss Welles, Mrs. Proulx, Mrs. Ransohoff Mr. and Mrs.
Monkhaus." Somewhat taken aback, they all murmured
greetings to one another. Dade said, "Ladies, I didn't
mean to intrude on you at a time like this. I's just that, as
Miriam's executor, I have to settle a matter that just won't
wait, so I took the liberty of asking the sheriff to escort the
Monkhauses here so we could resolve it."
They all looked at him blankly. He turned to Tillie and
 Murder Mystery 231

Monk. "The late Miriam Welles bought a painting from

you for thirty-five thousand dollars. The painting disap-
peared. You wanted it back. It has now been recovered.
It's in there." Dade pointed at the lock room. "As her ex-

ecutor, it is now my duty to turn it over to you in ex-

change for the check, if you want me to." Startled, Valdez
opened his mouth to object, but Dade held up a warning
hand. "One moment, please, Lieutenant." Dade turned to
the others.
Nettie said, "Really, I must protest. That was a bona
fide purchase on the part of the gallery." She made a little
French shrug of dismissal. Rachel and Chloe continued
looking at him, their expressions unchanged.
Tillie and Monk had been caught off-guard. They
looked at each other, then at Dade. He looked at each of
them in turn, eyebrows raised inquiringly. Monk started to
speak. Tillie put a hand on his arm, stopping him. Valdez
and Dade exchanged a look. Dade turned back toward
Tillie and Monk. They looked away.
Dade said, "I take it you would rather keep the
— —
money which is indeed yours than insist on having the
painting back." There was no answer. Dade said, "You
both know the painting is stolen. You didn't know that
when you sold it. But you know it now. And you know if
you take it back, the sheriff here will take it away from
you and you'll end up with nothing. You also know it's a
Raphael. You would have found that out when you looked
up the works of Giulio Romano. They'd be in any book of
—
the collected works of Raphael because Romano collabo-
rated with him on a few things. Anybody going through
such a book would be bound to come across 'La Fornar-
ina'— and you've lived with a copy of it hanging on your
wall, since you were a kid. You would have recognized it
instantly. My guess is you did."
Monk said nothing. Tillie said, "Yes, that's how he
found out. How we both found out."
"Oh, yes, it's a Raphael, all right. And practically every-
body connected with this case has known that from the
word go." Now, he walked up and down, thumbs hooked
into the armholes of his vest, not speaking for several mo-
ments, muttering under his breath, the bushy brows
 ,

232 Murder Mystery

twitching, as if in the midst of some dialogue with himself.
Then, he took a loud breath and faced them.
"You people have been through quite a lot lately. Very
painful. No doubt about that. I got some information for
you, sort of an explanation of how all this happened.
Since all of you are greatly affected by it, it seemed to me
only right that you should all have the chance to learn it
firsthand, instead of having to read about it in the papers.
The sheriff here has been kind enough to accommodate
me. So 111 just plunge in.
"Oh, there is one thing I'd like to mention. Might make<:
some people squirm, but it's necessary. From time to time,

HI be asking one or another of you for a bit of corrobo-

ration. I'd appreciate it if I could have it. See, you've toldd
me some lies. You don't want to do that." At the end of <

his speech, his eyes came to rest on Nettie. He stared att

her for a long time. Finally, she shifted her position, fold-
ing her plump arms.
"You're embarrassing me," she said.
'There have been three deaths in a short space of time.
Your embarrassment has a low priority among my
concerns." Turning suddenly to Monk, Dade said, "Youi
went to Nettie's to search the gallery. That overturned fur-
niture, that broken china —
that wasn't vandalism, that wass
you running into things. I heard you doing it myself thee
day I was at your house.
"Nettie didn't have the painting. She let you in to showv
you that it wasn't there. When you couldn't find it, you
weren't satisfied. You went upstairs to her apartment andi
searched that, too. My
thought is, she followed you and)
tried to stop you from tearing the place apart. You wereo
sure she knew where it was. You used force on her, trying^
to make her tell you. You must have knocked her down,i,
she hit her head and you ran out of there. Yes or no?"
Monk's astonished face looked up. He said in his shrill
voice, "I was trying to shake some sense into her. She felli
and hit her head on the edge of a table. It was an acci-
dent!"
Dade turned to Nettie. "You pretended you never saw^
your assailant. You What you were
weren't protecting him.
protecting was your own interest. If the police dragged!
 "

Murder Mystery 233

him in and questioned him, you were afraid they would

find out what it was he was looking for. And you knew
what it was. I know that because I've got me a witness
who heard Miriam on the phone the day before she was
killed saying to somebody, 'I can't move it,' and Those
kids are still here.' Now, she was referring to the Raphael,
obviously. Whoever was on the other end of that line
knew she was talking about the painting and knew where
it was. And whoever it was hung up without saying good-

bye, That someone was you." He pointed at Nettie.

Nettie gave a shuddering little sigh. "Yes," she said,
"it'sthe truth. I'd seen the painting once when she was
cleaning it She'd been working with trichloroethylene in
that little room. I warned her about it but she got careless.
She came out into the back courtyard and collapsed. I saw
her and ran down the stairs. Fortunately, Nick was there
looking for Rachel and he helped me. We brought her
around. I wanted to call a doctor but she wouldn't let me.
She was very pale, perspiring, really not well. But she in-
sisted on going right back to work. It was all I could do to
get some broth into her. We had brought her inside and
put her on the sofa and Nick had gone out to make sure
the fumes were gone. I went out to check."
"Did Nick see it?"
"I suppose so."
"Would he have known what it was?"
"Ask him."
"Did you know what it was?"
She gave him a little smile. "Anyway," she continued,
"Miriam was herself in about five minutes and went back
to work." Nettie gave a bitter laugh. "You know what I
was going to do? I was going to wait until after Jensen
had bought the painting and Gil and Miriam had gone off
and then I was going to say, 'Jensen, I understand you
have a Raphael now and I'd love to see it.'
"You mean, you were going to blackmail him."
'That's such an ugly word. I was going to say exactly
what I just told you. Sometimes, people can be unexpect-
edly generous."
Dade continued talking to Nettie. "After Miriam was
killed, the painting disappeared. You knew Monk and Til-
234 Murder Mystery
lie didn't have it because Monk kept asking you for it.

You knew you have it. And it seemed unlikely that

didn't
—
Chloe had ever heard of it not in your mind. But she
could very well have come to this house the night of the
storm and killed Miriam to stop her from running off with
Gil. Knowing nothing about the painting, she would have
left it there, for others to find."
Chloe reacted with astonishment.
"It never occurred to
me that — !"
Suddenly, she got up and stepped forward.
The mask of the porcelain doll vanished in front of their
eyes and her features twisted into an expression of
outrage. She cried out in a furious voice, "How dare you
presume to say such a thing to me?"
"I would like you to sit down," Dade replied softly.
"I will not sit down! I will not listen to any more of
this!" Turning to the others, she clenched her fists and
practically yelled at them, "I didn't kill her! I didn't kill
Miriam! Whatever made you think such a thing?"
"I didn't think it. But someone else did."
Chloe rounded on Valdez. "You?"
"Not him," Dade said. "Her." He wheeled on Nettie
and said loudly, "That's what you thought! You were the
only one who knew Miriam was running off with Gil. You
knew Chloe was desperate to keep her husband. You knew
—
the whole story because you were friends with both Gil
—
and Miriam you knew what had gone on a month be-
fore, when Jensen had gone to Chloe and between them
they had broken up that affair, or thought they had. And
you knew that if Chloe had found out the truth, she might
have killed Miriam to stop her."
"No!" cried Chloe.
"You knew," Dade said to Nettie. "You knew the pic-
ture wouldn't have meant anything to Chloe and she prob-
ably would have left it behind. And that's why you came
here the night of the funeral. Yes, you! The sheriff had
sealed off the garage until the coroner had finished the
autopsy and given his report and the insurance people had
finished their inventory. You couldn't search the garage
and that was the day of the funeral, which
until Friday,
you had to attend. The first chance you had was Friday
 Murder Mystery 235
night. And that's when you came here, —or
knowing at
least thinking — that the place was deserted.
"You were You took no
trained in the Resistance.
chances. You showed up here dressed in men's clothes,
wearing a stocking mask and carrying a gun. And when
you found the empty crate and knew the painting was
gone, you were sure Miriam was murdered for it and in
your mind there were only two people who could have
done it: Gil or Jensen. And it wasn't until Gil showed up
at your place last night and begged for your car, saying
he'd figured out who the murderer was and was going to
get the painting as the price of his silence, that you real-
ized he meant Jensen. Yes, in your mind, Jensen had mur-
dered his wife and stolen the painting —and now, he had
killed Gil."
Nettie nodded, her head bowed. Rachel gasped.
Tillie said in an unsteady voice, "How can you do this
to us after what we've been through?"
"Because it's time somebody told the truth," Dade said
quietly. "And since I've taken you this far, I'm going to
show you what I think happened." He walked toward the
lock room. The deputy opened the door. Dade pointed at
the easel behind the Chinese screen. "Can you fellas bring
that out here? Oh, and that standing spotlight. And I'll
bring the painting."
Valdez summoned another deputy and the easel and spot-
light were carried out. Dade brought a shrouded canvas
out himself, putting it up on the easel in front of all of
them, and turned on the spotlight, adjusting it to light the
canvas in a particular way. Then he dimmed the lights in
the room. After that, he went back into the lock room and
carried out a smaller painting and leaned it against a wall,
its back to them. Dade walked up and down, glancing

around briefly at all of them.

"It hit me last night," he began. "I saw it then but I
didn't know what I was looking at. You know, Jensen was
a connoisseur. Look at the way the paintings in this room
are hung. Take a good look at the way they're lit. Well,
the other night, he was going to show us the Botticelli.
Easel set up in the library, lights in place. You understand
 —

236 Murder Mystery

what Fm saying, don't you? Well, Jensen's body was found
in the lock room and the police came to the conclusion it
was suicide. It looked like suicide. There was poor Jensen,
sitting in his chair in front of his Raphael, just as if he'd
put it up there so it'd be the last thing he'd see in this
world.
"I didn't know what was wrong until they put up the
Botticelli for us to look at. I said—now, I remember
when we looked at it, 'It just seems to fill the whole place.'
I wasn't aware of anything else in the room. That's be-
cause Jensen had lit it. Like this." He nicked off the lights
and then pulled the drape off the painting and turned on
the spotlight. Botticelli's vision floated before them. Noth-
ing else was visible.
Dade said, "All right," and Valdez flicked the lights in
the room on again, covered the Botticelli, lifted it down
from the easel, set it against a wall and then replaced it
with the smaller canvas, still covered. He nicked off the
lights in the room. They could hear a rustling as he un-
veiled the canvas. Dade's voice in the darkness said, "But
when we found Jensen, we saw this."
The spotlight was turned back on. There was a murmur
of awe and surprise in the room. Their eyes were now
riveted on the Raphael. Dade walked toward it. The easel
was so placed that the table with refreshments was behind
it. To one side of the portrait, one could see rows of

bottles of liquor and even read the labels. Boodles Gin,

Ambassador Scotch, Martell Cognac. Dade walked over
and switched the lights oil.
He turned toward them and said, "The Botticelli's a
much bigger canvas. But when the Raphael was put on the
easel, the spotlight overhead was left the same way. The
light spilled over the painting, do you get my meaning? It
lit a lot of metal storage shelves and cabinets on the wall

behind the easel and the Chinese screen, just the way this
is lighting up that booze. Now, no manJensen Welles
like
would do that to a painting, certainly not to a Raphael,
certainly not if he meant it to be the last thing he saw on
this earth. But Jensen had no such intention. He didn't put
that Raphael up on that easel. And he didn't kill himself.
 Murder Mystery 237

Jensen Welles was murdered —and by the same person

who murdered Miriam and Gil."
They reacted to a sound. Monk had gotten to his feet
and was walking unsteadily toward the Raphael. He made
a groaning sound in his throat. Tillie was at his side in-
stantly, taking his arm, cooing to him, gently leading him
back again to his place.
Dade gestured at the canvas. Deputies moved the
painting over to the wall and placed it there on the floor
next to the Botticelli. Then Valdez collapsed the easel and
gave it to one of the deputies in the gallery.
Monk sunk
in thought. Tillie stood
sat apart, brooding,
by her mouth open, arrest-
herself, looking out at nothing,
ed in motion. Chloe, Nettie and Rachel had gotten to
their feet and were gathered together now, all talking at
once.
Valdez said, "Okay, ladies, let's let him have his say,
can we do that, please?"
The three women fell silent abruptly, all of them turn-
ing to look at Dade and communicating a sense that they
had closed ranks, that the three of them, like the women
in a Greek chorus, represented a common attitude. They
looked at Dade with a mixture of astonishment and dis-
taste, as if they were priestesses surprised at their secret
rites by an intruder.
Dade about an hour ago, the sheriffs theory
said, "Until
was that Jensen Welles killed his wife in a fury when he
found out what she was planning to do to him. Then,
when Gil Ransohoff tried to blackmail him into giving him
the Raphael as the price of his silence, he killed him, too,
and then took his own life." Dade cleared his throat.
"But it couldn't have happened that way, because we
now know that Jensen was murdered. Why? To silence
him because he'd figured out who'd killed Miriam? Well,
let's just examine the logic of that for a moment. He cer-
tainly hadn't figured it out at eight o'clock Saturday night,
when I left him. He and sent for a
called Pinkerton's
guard to be here at nine o'clock, which meant that he had
no plans to leave the house. Right after that, he sat down
and wrote me a letter telling me he'd known Miriam was
238 Murder Mystery
murdered as soon as he found out the Raphael was miss-
ing.
"Expecting the Pinkerton man, he opens the lock room.
Enter the murderer. Oh, this was planned. This was care-
fully planned. My hunch is, he was killed then and there.
It was the murderer who drove away in the Rolls, wearing
Jensen's hat and coat and even his shoes, the murderer
who changed cars in the private garage at the office, the
murderer whom Gil had made plans to meet in Malibu
Canyon.
"But why kill Jensen? To silence him? There's no evi-
dence that Jensen knew anything that threatened anybody.
Why was he murdered? To make it look as if he had first
killed his wife, then Gil, then himself? Why? If it was just
to make it seem that someone else was guilty, why not
make Gil's murder appear to be suicide and leave it at
that? Why was it necessary to kill Jensen? The answer to
that one question is the key to the riddle.
'This whole mess is really very simple, once you see it
straight. Here's where we went wrong. At first, everybody
thought Miriam's death was an accident. It couldn't be
murder. Nobody had any motive to kill Miriam. That's
what everybody thought. So when Rachel came to me and
said it was murder, I didn't have any reason to believe her.
What was the motive?
"Then, we found out about the painting. There's your
motive. A ten-million-dollar Raphael! There's your motive,
right? Wrong!"
He sensed glances, like blinkers, signaling each other
around the room. He turned away, reminded of some-
thing, trying to remember what it was. Then it came to
him. In the Pacific, during the war, natives were airlifted
out of Burma, fifty or a hundred half-naked men on the
deck of an open cargo plane. There would be a quick
glance of nomination, another seconding. Their glances
flashed rapidly, opposing, assenting, yielding. Then in a
gelid, unanimous argus-instant, one man was thrown a mile
to his death. He
turned back to them again, his eyes
sweeping over them. He saw the truth. They were looking
for a victim. He wanted then to step back, to withdraw.
 Murder Mystery 239

Ellen sensed his dismay. He caught her eyes on him. He

nodded, rubbing his big jaw.
"See, Miriam was murdered, all right," he continued
softly. "But by mistake. Because she wasn't the intended
victim. Jensen was."
 XXX
There was dead silence. Valdez was staring at Dade open^
mouthed, a look of astonishment on his face.
Dade continued. "The murderer couldn't very well stage
a second accident. Forgive me, Refugio, but that might at-
tract attention, even the sheriff's. The problem was how to
get rid of Jensen. This required a certain degree of im-
provisation. After Miriam's death, the painting had been
taken as insurance in case her death was thought to be
murder. Any robber might have killed her for what she
had with her. Remember, she was outside the fenced areas
of the property in a narrow driveway all alone there on a
stormy night. But now all of a sudden, there were a lot of
suspects where the murderer had intended only one. That
made for mischief.
"And here's the painting. With Gil RansohofFs finger-
prints on it. Sheriff here will confirm that." Valdez
nodded. "Oh, he had the painting, Gil Ransohoff. My
guess is he had it for about thirty seconds." There was a
sudden surprised whispering. 'That's right. Now, I'm going
to tell you why I think that.
"See, Gil Ransohoff had the sheriff breathing down his
neck. He'd been conspiring with Miriam to sell a ten-mil-
lion-dollar stolen painting to Jensen Welles. He found
Miriam dead. Told me so himself. Now all of a sudden,
the sheriff, he's looking at Gil. Sheriff is thinking, She was
killed for that painting and youVe got it. That, my friends,
is a rope around any man's neck. Now, here's what Gil
must have thought: He knew damn well he didn't have it
Nettie had been assaulted by someone searching her place
240
 Murder Mystery 241

for so he would have ruled out Nettie. He knew Monk

it,

didn't have it because Monk had come to him demanding

it back and gotten shot in the process. If Monk didn't have

it, then neither did Monk's wife. He was damn sure Chloe

never heard of it. Well, who did that leave? Jensen?

"Well, Jensen was the one with the strongest motive, the
one they were afraid of. Everybody kept trying to think
Jensen. But Gil didn't take the bait. This is only a guess.
But what I think is, Gil found out from Monk that day he
showed up that Monk and his wife had tried to get the
painting from Jensen and had such damaging information
about his movements that if Jensen had had it, he would
have given it up to save his own skin." Dade looked at
Monk for confirmation. "True or false?" Monk nodded
dumbly.
—
"Gil guessed who the murderer was and guessed right.
And that cost him his life. He was so eager to make a deal
with the murderer that he climbed out the bathroom win-
down with the sheriff at the door. Left the house with noth-
ing. Now, why was that? The answer, my friends, is
indicated by Gil RansohofFs fingerprints. He wanted that
painting —and badly. That was ten million dollars' worth
of bribe. Gil Ransohoff loved money. He couldn't live
without it. His wife is the one who told me that So to
him, this must have looked like a chance well worth tak-
ing. And he was taking it. He knew he had to disappear.
He was had that painting in
leaving the country, once he
his possession. The proof is, he had his passport with him.
That's it. No suitcase, no possessions, nothing but that and
a wallet full of credit cards that would have been good
for, let's say, a few days. Oh, and an empty brief case.
Just big enough to hold a folded canvas."
"He met the murderer in Malibu Canyon. Now, this
wasn't like simple blackmail. This was going to be a one-
shot deal. There was no chance that Gil could ever come
back and ask for more. Once Gil took that painting, the
murderer was off the hook and the risk was all Gil's.
Here's the painting, the murderer says. Now, that must
have been a very interesting moment, because if Gil had
ever tried to get out of the country with it and gotten
caught, there wouldn't have been a jury anywhere in the
 —

242 Murder Mystery

world that wouldn't convict him. Well, our murderer met
Gil halfway. Accepted his silence, but gave him a bullet
instead of a Raphael.
"Then if you were the murderer, all you had to do was
put the painting where we found it to make Jensen's death
look like the suicide of a guilty man. And suicide would
work just as well for our murderer as accident You catch
my drift?"
Rachel got to her feet, an incredulous look on her face.
She looked beseechingly at all of them, as if seeking sup-
port Then she said to Dade, "What are you saying? What
in the world are you saying?" She gave him a dreadful
half-smile of disbelief, swaying on her feet. Chloe jumped
up and took her by the arm, trying to make her sit down.
But Rachel pushed her away, half whispering, "No, I have
to hear it," as if she could only follow what he was saying
by remaining where she was. A thin hand pushed her
reddish hair back from the freckled forehead.
Dade said in a flat voice, "This was murder. This was
murder three times. The district attorney will go into a
court of law and show it was murder." They all looked up
at him, motionless.
"There's a last piece of evidence that properly should
come from Jensen himself, but since he's gone I'll have to
submit it to you as amicus curiae. Rachel has a lot of
—
money, that's true, but she can't touch it I should say
—
'couldn't' while Jensen was alive. She had the money but
—
he had the income the whole thing.
"Well, now, along came a young man named Nick Lev-
in. Rachel fell in love with him. Jensen had the natural
fears of a father with a rich heiress for a daughter. Every
—
young man is looked on as a fortune hunter unless, of
course, he's got his own fortune. Fortunes are hard to
fake. You can pretend to have a lot of money but men
like Jensen can find out very quickly what you're worth.
"Nick never said he had a fortune, only that he was
making one. And from all appearances, he was. He dealt in
puts and calls. He'd buy a contract say, for June wheat
that meant in March, he'd pay a broker ten thousand dol-
lars against a hundred thousand, betting that the price of
his wheat contract would be worth at least a hundred
 Murder Mystery 243
—
thousand in three months and if it went up, well, every
cent of it that went over that hundred thousand was pure
profit. Of course, if it went down he could lose his invest-
ment.
"Well, Nick, he kept making money every month. Ten,
twenty thousand dollars, month in and month out. He'd
almost never guess wrong. He looked to everybody like a
financial genius. Jensen was suspicious from the beginning.
You know, it's a funny thing, but a man can be just too
successful for his own good. Jensen's been around invest-
ments too long to buy a story like that. Still, he saw the
receipts from the brokerage houses. No question about it,
Nick was cleaning up.
"Jensen double-checked. Sure, Nick had made all those
investments. Sure, he'd been paid. Nick was doing business
all over town. Sure, they were delighted to have him as a
customer. But Jensen was doing an awful lot of digging. It
was only a question of time before he found out.
"I found out. Today. Two hours ago. Nick was betting
against himself. Fact! He was
buying puts as well as calls.
He couldn't lose. 'Course, he couldn't win, neither. But he
didn't care. All he needed to do was show Jensen those
winning contracts to make himself look rich as Croesus.
He spent six months looking like a real winner. Truth is,
he was a real loser." Dade stopped.
Rachel was closer to him now, her wide eyes fixed on
him in mounting disbelief. She said hoarsely, "It isn't
true!" She turned away, leaning her arms on the back of a
high chair for support, digging her fingers into her hair,
slowly shaking her head. "Oh, no. There must have been a
reason." She did not yet seem to absorb the implications
of what Dade was saying.
Dade looked quickly at Valdez's face, caught a glance
of amazement, then a look of appreciation from Ellen.
Monk's perpetually surprised face sought his like a sun-
flower following the light, his head rotated slowly as Dade
paced. Tillie seemed to withdraw into herself as she lis-
tened to him. Chloe, Nettie and Rachel drew close to-
gether, as if for support.
"I'm afraid it's true. Your father tried to steer you clear
by just telling you Nick was a fortune hunter. You
244 Murder Mystery
wouldn't Said you were going to marry Nick and
listen.
that it was your business and that was the end of the
whole thing. When your father gave you a choice and said
either you gave up seeing Nick or else you moved out and
supported yourself, you packed up and left. After all, you
didn't care about money. All you wanted was Nick. And
allNick wanted was your hundred million dollars, which
he might not get his hands on for twenty years."
"No! No! No!" She clapped her hands over her ears to
shut out the truth and shook her head as if to shake off
suspicion.
Dade said, "It's true, all right."
"How can you attack him like this, behind his back?"
"I'll tell him to his face! Where is he, Rachel?"
She drew back and looked around as if the room itself
held some secret hint of her lover's whereabouts. "Safe
from you," she said with an uneven smile. Then anger
reddened her cheeks and she yelled, "Safe from you!"
Dade continued. "After all, Jensen was hale and hearty
and detested Nick." He turned to Rachel and said to her
directly. "Well, what the hell were you going to live on? If
you found out the truth, you might divorce him. You
might exclude him from any settlement. You had a lot of
weapons and he had already seen that you could be will-
ful. He was trapped. And then you told him your father
had threatened to kill him.
"Well, there wasn't much time. There it was, a hundred
million on one side and an enraged father with a gun on
the other. That's how things were on the night of the big
storm, February fourteenth." Dade paused. They were all
staring at him like a jury, weighing his arguments.
"That night, Jensen had to go out, in spite of the
weather. He had urgent business affairs to attend to. The
only person who knew what he was up to was Miriam.
But that doesn't matter. Nick knew that Jensen had to go
out. He knew from you, Rachel. You told me so.
"Now, the thing was, it had to look accidental. How
does somebody improvise a murder by apparent accident
at the last minute? That takes a kind of desperate imagina-
tion. We have already seen that kind of imagination in the
story I've told you. Break the automatic door-closing
 " —a

Murder Mystery 245

device in the car by opening it up and bending it. When

—
your victim drives out remembering that he is a man
who keeps attack dogs and lives in fear of being robbed
the murderer can be fairly sure his victim will get out of
his car to close the door manually.
"Now, if you were the murderer, what would you do?
You would lie in wait in the bushes, hidden by the trees in
the turnabout, where your victim would have to stop the
car to get to the garage without slogging through knee-
high mud. You thank Providence for the blinding storm
that keeps him from seeing you —
but in this case, also
keeps you from seeing your victim. Consider what Miriam
was wearing: a long raincoat which hung in the garage, a
Burberry with a hood. That's what you'd have seen —
Rolls Royce and a figure in a long raincoat." He paused
and looked around at all of them. "I happened to have a
look at it yesterday. You know what I saw? I saw a name
tag in it, inside the pocket. Said the thing belonged to Jen-
sen Welles. That's what Miriam was wearing: Jensen's
raincoat. And that, my friends, is what the murderer saw.
'The moment has come. The clever murderer jumps in
the Rolls and races forward, slamming the heavy car into
the victim, and then discovering when it was too late that
the victim was not Jensen but Miriam." Chloe gasped.
Nettie sighed, covering her eyes. Rachel looked up, the
horror dawning on her face. "Miriam had gotten out of
the car not because the garage door opener wouldn't work,
but to get the painting out of a cabinet, when suddenly she
saw that huge car rushing down at her —
"It isn't true," Rachel said, "it isn't true."
"Isn't it?"
"No, I don't believe it."
"And prove
if I it to you?"
"Can you?"
"Where is Nick now?"
"Then you can't prove it!" Her face was flushed with
triumph. "You can't prove it! I knew you couldn't!"
Dade whispered, "Where is he, Rachel?"
"I don't know."
"But he's going to call you."
"I don't have to help you!" Now her eyes blazed, she
 "

246 Murder Mystery

was have to help you! We're mar-
yelling at him. "I don't
ried! He's my husband! You can't force me to testify
against him!" The room was instantly filled with the sound
of voices. Then, abruptly, silence.
Dade said to Rachel, "When he finds out we're looking
for Jhim, he'll know he's at your mercy. How long do you
think he's going to put up with that? If he's killed not
once, not twice, but three times
—
"You twist words!" She was desperate now, her arms
locked, sitting on a barstool and writhing back and forth,
as if to escape the torment of his conclusions. "Everybody
here is guilty, according to you!"
"I did that to show you that everyone's innocent! To
make you believe it! Rachel, Rachel, where is he?"
"I don't know! I told him not to tell me when he said
Dad was out to kill him and I'm glad I don't know!"
"And when he hears on the news that Jensen was mur-
dered? When Nick Levin finds out we're looking for
—
him to question him? Rachel, face it! He lied to you!"
'Take back what you said! It isn't true that he lied to
me! It isn't!"
"Rachel, Miriam's dead. She was murdered. She died
horribly. I didn't show you the coroner's report. She died
in agony."
"No, no!"
"She was left to die!**
"I can't bear it!"
"Rachel, never rest until her murderer is brought
I will
to justice. I swear I won't. Rachel, you know where he is
and you're going to meet him."
"No!"
"You are going to meet him, aren't you?"
do it!"
"I won't
The phone began went through all of them
to ring. It
like an electric shock. Rosarita had entered to clear away
the cups. She started toward the phone.
Rachel said, "Don't!" Rosarita backed off. Rachel
whipped away from them. Dade went to her, took her by
the elbow and steered her toward the phone. It continued
ringing. He begged her with his eyes.
 Murder Mystery 247

"No!*' she said. "If you want it answered, you answer

it!"
answer it, he'Jl get suspicious. Rachel, please."
"If I
"No." She turned away, trying to avoid everyone's gaze
and, by accident, looked straight at the smiling portrait of
Miriam, hanging in the center of the room. The phone
continued ringing. She kept looking at the painting until
the ringing stopped. Then she said, almost to herself, "I
can't! I won't!"
Dade nodded slowly, then straightened himself up and
said to Rachel, "I'm afraid that conflict we spoke of has
now arisen."
"But he's my husband, Dade."
"Exactly. And
represent all that a poor dead lady had
I

to leave to this world. I must ask you to seek other

representation." Dade offered Ellen his arm. They left the
room together.
 "

XXXI

Dade and Ellen got in their car and a moment later Val-
dez came up to them.
"Okay," he said. "Okay." He hesitated. "Want to meet
over in my office? Talk a little?" Dade nodded. An earnest
Brandt came up to Valdez and said something in his ear.
Valdez shook his head. Brandt walked away a few steps.
Dade leaned forward and asked in an unemotional
voice, "Get permission?"
"Yes," Valdez said. "We got a court order."
"They get anything?"
"They can't unless she answers the phone."
They drove to the station in separate cars. They sat
down in Valdez's office. Valdez glanced at a wall clock. It
was just twelve. Galvanized, he switched on a radio and
after the familiar electronic sounds which announced the
hourly news, an announcer read headlines and said that he
would return ". . . with these stories and many more after
this."A commercial followed.
The announcer came back and said, "And now for the
news," and read the same bulletins over again. An elec-
tronic beeping in a higher key interrupted him. He said,
"Now, here's news live and direct from Malibu. Jensen
Welles, famed philanthropist and art collector, was found
shot to death last night at his Malibu estate only five days
after the freak accident which killed his wife. No details
are available, but authorities are now searching for a man
they want to question in connection with the death, Nick
Levin, who disappeared sometime early this morning. And
now, sports and the weather —
248
 Murder Mystery 249

Valdez switched off the radio, folded his arms on the

desk and looked inquiringly at Dade. "Satisfied?"
"Yes."
"All right, it's a chance and we're going to take it." Val-
dez excused himself and returned a few moments later
with three chilled cans of Coke and some large paper cups
and paper napkins. He opened the cans and poured each
of them one. The three of them sat in silence, sipping,
waiting, watching a couple of young deputies on their
lunch break playing Frisbee in their shirt-sleeves on the
vacant landing pad of the helicopter.
After almost a quarter of an hour, Brandt banged into
the office. He said, "There was a collect call a few minutes
ago. Maid answered. Left the line for about a minute then
came back and refused the call."
"Was it Levin?" Valdez asked.
"Yeah. Stayed on the line just long enough for us to
Came from a pay station up near Porter-
trace the call.
ville."
"Hell call again," Dade said.
Valdez frowned. "She'll warn him. You know she'll
warn him."
"Well, we can't help that."
"Up in the mountains," Valdez said. "Snow. Lots of it"
"You set up roadblocks?" Dade asked.
Brandt said, "We're doing it now." He nodded at Val-
dez and rushed out.
Valdez said, "They were all set to move, just waiting to
hear. Weather's in our favor. Most of those roads are
closed. He can't go higher. Car can't get through. If he
tried it on foot, he'd freeze to death. He'll have to stick to
one of the main roads and they all lead down to the high-
way. I guess there's nothing we can do but wait."
Dade said, "Well, as my granddaddy used to say, "When
God made time, he made plenty of it.' "
"She'll arrange to meet him," Ellen said abruptly. The
two men looked at her. "She's a woman in love," she went
on. "She's not going to wait here for him. After she warns
him, she'll try to meet him."
"She's not stupid," Dade said. "It will occur to her that
we've got the line tapped."
 "

250 Murder Mystery

Ellen made a face. "For heaven's sake, of course she's
not stupid! She'll just say something like, 'Where we went
last Christmas.' I'm sure she's already got it worked out by
now."
"And how are we supposed to know where that is?" the
lieutenant grumbled.
Ellen made a birdlike little gesture. "She will also expect
you to be following her."
"All right, my dear," Dade said, with a touch of annoy-
ance. "What would you do?"
She said in a reasonable tone, "If I were going to meet
him, I would drive to the airport, buy a ticket to San
Francisco, mingle with the people and then join the crowd
boarding the plane."
The lieutenant said gently, "I'm afraid we would have
our people waiting to meet the plane in San Francisco."
"Oh, but I wouldn't be on the plane! You see, when you
board a plane, you go through a door to one of those
movable passageways leading to the boarding entrance of
the plane. Well, right beside that entrance is a flightof
stairs leading to the ground. On a crowded flight, I could
slip away and you would never miss me. Once on the
ground, I would get back into the terminal by a service
entrance, keep out of sight and make my way to a cab
stand. I would then take a cab into Westwood, rent a car
and Fd be on the freeway while your agents were still
waiting for me in San Francisco."
The two men stared at her. She shrugged and said,
"Well, you asked."
"My dear," Dade said after a moment, "I never suspect-
ed you of such animal cunning —
Ellen gave him a blue stare and said, "I'm not a mind
reader but you mustn't underestimate the cleverness of a
woman trying to save her husband's life. She may do the
opposite and try to lead you away from where he's going.
It all depends, really, on the telephone message and, of —
course, on whether you can figure it out Besides, I still
think you're making a mistake."
"I've told you
—
" Dade began,
"I know what you've told me. I know what you think.
—
What you both think. As for me oh, I don't know what I
 Murder Mystery 251

believe anymore. We're all haunted by a sense of responsi-

bility to find out the murderer's identity, just as we our-
selves would want it found out if we were murdered. But
it's dangerous, just as it was to Gil and poor Jensen and

I'm afraid. I can't help it, I'm just afraid."

They were interrupted by the sound of a buzzer. Valdez
picked up a phone and said, "Yes?" Then he flicked a
switch on a speaker.
They heard the woman deputy's voice say "Deputy
Brandt on six."
Valdez pressed a button on the phone and said,
"Brandt?"
Brandt's voice said, "Phone rang again. It was not an-
swered."
Valdez looked at Dade, then said, "Brandt, anybody
else in there with her, besides the maid?"
"Negative, sir."
"You are monitoring all three phones?"
"All three, yes, sir."
"Report every message. Repeat: Every message."
"Yes, sir."
Valdez put down the phone, flicked off the speaker, and
iolded his arms. They waited an hour. Valdez sent out for
lunch from the health-food store around the corner thick —
slabs of homemade wheat bread buttered and filled with
alfalfa sprouts, tomato, jack cheese and avocado and
glasses of carrot juice.The hour stretched into two hours.
There had now been perhaps a dozen calls, to be expected,
of course, after the news of Jensen's death, but Rachel had
answered none of them.
Valdez got an urgent long-distance call from Washing-
ton. He took it, his head in one hand, grunting and nod-
ding, then, when someone else came on the line, got to his
feet, as if unconsciously drawing himself to attention in
the presence of a higher authority. "One moment, sir," he
said. He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said to
Dade, "It's the French embassy in Washington. They want
to take possession of the painting. Right away."
Dade shook his head, saying, "Sorry, they'll have to
wait."
Valdez said into the phone, "I don't have authority to
 "

252 Murder Mystery

release it yet, sir." He listened for a moment, then said,
"The moment I do. Certainly. We have absolutely no wish
to impound it. Yes, sir. Yes, sir." There was a click.
Slowly, Valdez put down the phone. "I don't even know
how — —
they got this number well that's kind of a stupid
—
thing to say, isn't it? But anyway, they want " His face
flushed. "I just take orders. You understand that, don't
you?"
The phone rang again. Valdez snatched it up and said,
"Valdez." Uneasy, clearing his throat and walking away
from Dade, phone in hand as if wanting to insure the pri-
vacy of whoever had come on the line, he spoke in a low
voice, apologetic, his forehead beginning to perspire. When
he finally managed to extricate himself from the conversa-
tion, he put down the phone with a sigh, saying irritably to
Dade, "That was the FBL They want my cooperation." He
looked at Dade helplessly. "They want the painting turned
over to the French but have no authority to order me to
deliver it It's a big thing. They said there could be some
big legal problem and had I heard about it? I haven't
heard. What problem? What are they talking about? Please
tell me. It would mean a lot if I could do them a favor."

"What they mean is, under the law, they don't know
who owns the painting. The matter may have to go to
court"
"What the hell are you saying?"
"When it comes to theft, there is such a thing as the
statute of limitations."
"There's no statute of limitations in France! Not when
it comes to art thefts! They said that up front!" Valdez
was perspiring freely now.
"But there is in California," Dade pursued. "And it runs
three years."
Valdez got out of his swivel chair, came around the
desk and, sitting on his haunches, took Dade's big hand in
both of his, squeezing it, and said, "I'm begging you —
Dade was taken aback. Valdez gestured at the phone as if
at an idol. "These are really big people —
breaking this
case means, well, hell, you must know what it means to
me! I can't go this far and lose that damn picture!"
"I understand you."
 " "

Murder Mystery 253

"Whose picture is it, if it doesn't belong to the French,

you tell me that?"
will
"Why, the picture was bought and paid for by Miriam
Welles. It belongs to her heirs."
"Jensen Welles is dead! You mean to her stepdaughter?"
"No, she only left Rachel her personal things but she
left her half of the gallery and any paintings she might
own in whole or in part to Nettie Proulx."
"Well, hell, she's French. She wouldn't give her own
people the shiv."
"Lieutenant, have you done much traveling?"
Valdez said,not following this, still squatting beside
Dade, "If I've said anything to offend you in the course of
this case, by God, I'm sorry. Look, I'm begging you, I'm
on my knees —
*Tve already said —
**You're one smart guy. Me, I've sweated — I mean, Fve
—
sweated to get where I am. My pop, he picked grapes
and hid from the migra. I want you to help me." The
large dark eyes implored him. Dade felt like a plaster saint
in a village.
Ellen said, "Of course hell help you. Dade, help the
man."
"Thank you, lady."
"Honey, he's got a problem. The FBI is right.''
"I said, help him. Now, I mean it, Dade!"
Dade freed his hand, getting to his feet, and walked up
and down, watching the crew work on the ever-present
sheriffs helicopter. He was trying to dredge up a memory,
thinking how strange it was that he remembered that he
remembered, why, it was just like having a word on the
tip of one's tongue. Then what he was hunting for came to
him, he let out a hoot and his face relaxed into a down-
home smile. "San Francisco!" he shouted. "Nineteen
twenty-five! Anybody says no can kiss my ass downtown
on Easter Sunday! You hear me, Refugio?"
"You got the answer?"
"Let me tell you just how the law reads, may I do that?
It's covered under the Code of Civil Procedure —
um, three
thirty-eight subsection three, if memory serves. Yes, I'm
right The statute of limitations on theft runs three years
254 Murder Mystery
in this state, no more, no less. But there's a couple of
words gets us off the hook: You got to have 'notorious
possession.' What that means is, if I steal a painting off of
you and hide it under the bed, say, for three years and
then pull it out and say, 'Now it's mine!' the law says, 'No,
it ain't.' See, you can't conceal the thing. Under the doc-
trine of adverse possession, the statute is tolled until after
the possession becomes open and notorious. Tolling the
statute, of course, means just setting it aside till I pull that
picture out from under the bed. Then, when I hang the
thing up on my wall for all to see, the statute starts run-
ning again. Now, if it hangs there for three years and you
never get around to saying, 'Hey, that's mine! I want it
back!' why, once that three years is up, the painting's
mine."
Valdez was uncertain. "But you said Monkhaus had the
painting hanging on the wall of his house for years in
plain view. Isn't that open and notorious?"
"It was overpainted," Ellen pointed out
"But the overpainting was a copy of the Raphael under-
neath! Is that concealment?" Valdez still wasn't sure.
"It was intended to be," Dade said.
"Suppose Monkhaus argued the contrary?" Valdez pur-
sued. "Suppose he said that was just a form of protec-
tion — oh, like hanging a fur coat in a mothproof bag. I'm
just asking whether there's any way he could get around
this —Monkhaus or his wife or that little French lady."
"Nope. Intent was clearly to conceal. Worked so well, it
fooled Monk's mother, Monk, Tillie and presumably ev-
erybody who ever came by. Nope, no way you can argue
that."
"So the painting is still legally stolen? Are you sure of
that?" Valdez stroked his mustache.
"Let me show you howthe statute works. Up in San
Francisco, we once had
us a famous case. That was back
in nineteen twenty-five. Somebody stole a painting and
fenced it The fence hid it for . . . oh, seven or eight
years, then sold it to an auctioneer who sold it publicly.
Original owner saw it at the auction and sued the buyer.
Buyer argued the statute of limitations. But the State Su-
preme Court held that the painting had been concealed all
 Murder Mystery 255
that time and every time there's a transfer of ownership, a
new conversion, that starts the three-year statute running
all over again. Result: Original owner got back his
painting.
"See, the language is very specific. Possession must be
'open and notorious.' They got both words in there be-
cause they mean both words. Nope," Dade shook his big
head, "in my judgment, that painting is still stolen. Statute
of limitations doesn't apply. Refugio, you're a hero. You
can rest easy."
Valdez grabbed Dade's hand and wrung it, then
squeezed Ellen's. "I owe you," he kept saying, "I owe
you."
Dade glanced at his watch. It was now after two. There
was still no word. They continued waiting.
 XXXII
That afternoon, Dade made occasional visits to the Welles
estate, leaving his car at the gate and walking up and
down outside the fence, looking at the grounds. The first

time, he saw a gardener and his assistant arrive at the

gate. They were let in by Rosarita, and began doing their
chores, oblivious to what was going on. truck drove up A
from a pool service and a pool boy, barefoot and wearing
only shorts, began dragging equipment toward the pool,
waving to the gardeners. He remained in plain sight all the
time, his thin brown body visible at the edge of the pool as
he backflushed it, working to get the prime up again,
bleeding the filter and then vacuuming, rock music mean-
while blaring out of the speakers of the trucks' radio.
Later Dade caught sight of Rosarita coming out onto
the service porch with bags of trash, filling a bucket,
wringing out a mop.
The shoreline was being watched. Brandt told Dade that
twice a deputy in a fishing boat reported that Rachel had
come out onto the promontory behind the house, where
the cliff plunged down a hundred feet to the breakers be-
low, and had stood there, arms folded, shivering, staring
out at nothing. There were steps cut into the rocky face of
the cliff leading down to the water. The tide was going
out. By nightfall it would be possible to walk along the
beach to where it widened. The lieutenant expected her to
try to get away then on foot, and deputies disguised as
lifeguards were stationed at the nearby public beaches.
The instructions to all ofthem were the same: If she tried
to leave, they were to make no move to show themselves
256
 Murder Mystery 257
or intercept her, only to follow her and report her where-
abouts.
But Rachel, Brandt said, had made no attempt to go
anywhere. When the sun grew stronger in the late after-
noon, she came out of the house wearing dark glasses and
a bikini, carrying a big beach towel and a bottle of sun-tan
lotion and, stretching out on an upholstered chaise placed
on the edge of the pool deck overlooking the sea, she read
her book, which a deputy with powerful binoculars duti-
fully reported as, "some kind of religious book about an
abbey by a guy named Austen."
Once Rosarita came out and spoke to her briefly, then
returning with a tray and a pitcher and a tall glass of what
looked like iced tea. Rachel sipped her drink and read her
book, occasionally smearing herself with lotion from the
dark bottle. She had the white skin of a redhead, rosy now
from the sun and covered with scatterings of freckles. The
sun would not be good for such skin and she clearly knew
it, for after a while, she adjusted the umbrella so that she

was protected by its shadow and covered herself from chin

to toe with her big towel, afterward propping up her book
on her middle and continuing to read it slowly.
There was a telephone at her elbow on the low table
beside her. It was reported that she did not seem to react
at all when it rang. It might have been no more than the
sound of an insect. The deputies watching her became
restless. The man in the fishing boat was hot under the
canopy which protected him from the sun. Once or twice,
he complained that he had almost fallen asleep. Finally
Rachel lay the book across her middle, lay her head back
and went to sleep.
The deputy in the boat stretched out on the padded
bench along the gunwhale and began watching her
through slitted eyes, after arranging with the lifeguard
deputy to keep checking him to keep him awake. The
whole thing reminded him of something, he told Brandt.
After a while, he remembered what it was. Fifteen years
before, when he was twelve, he had sneaked into what he
thought was a dirty movie and it turned out to be a movie
about a man asleep. Jeez, he just kept sleeping the whole
258 Murder Mystery
fucking time, the deputy mumbled to himself, remember-
ing. I thought I'd go outta my fucking gourd.
Brandt told Dade later that visitors had begun to appear
at the gate, one after another, people paying condolence
calls, members of the press after a story. To each of them,
Rosarita repeated the same message over the intercom:
Miss Welles was not at home, and the maid had no idea
when she was expected. Inside the house, Rosarita wrote
down all the names of those who had stopped by. The gate
remained locked.
Some of the reporters waited around. A mobile unit
from a television station parked in the drive and a
cameraman with a minicam on his shoulder took up a sta-
tion in a bend of the drive, where he could photograph
visitors before they were aware of it. When the gardeners
finished and loaded their equipment back on their truck
and headed for the gate, several reporters tried to force
their way in but found themselves suddenly intercepted by
sheriffs deputies who told them to stand back. The
gardeners departed, the gate locking behind them.
The shadows lengthened. It was after five. In an hour it
would be dark. Dade still waited, now getting word from
Brandt. The men on duty at the gates, the ones in the
thick brush down the coast who had taps on all three
phones, the men on the beach and the deputy rocking in
his cradle of a fishing boat all waited as they had been
waiting for six hours, looking impatiently at their watches,
wondering when the relief men were going to show up,
drinking coffee from thermos bottles, coffee that was al-
ways slightly rancid from the petroleum taste of the plastic
of the cup, swearing under their breaths, sick of the whole
business, none of them sure "why the hell we're birddog-
ging this goddamn cunt and why the fuck don't she take a
nude sunbath, she oughtta know nobody can see her out
where she is anyway," this last from the deputy out in the
fishing boat, after which an offshore wind made the water
choppy. Within minutes, he was seasick, half falling out of
his boat, vomiting, trying at the same time to keep his eyes
on Rachel, who got up from her chair, throwing down her
book and towel, and walked out to the very edge of the
cliff, standing there with her hands digging into her thick
 Murder Mystery 259

hair, motionless, perfectly still, one foot in front of the

other, poised and slender as a Giacometti statue, eyes on

the sea, giving the seasick deputy, whose stomach was now
knotted and cramped from the suddenness and violence of
his nausea, the eerie impression that their roles had gotten
reversed and she now watched him.
The setting sun flashed gold in the vaulted windows of
the Welles house, touched Rachel's red hair, making it for
a moment a radiant halo of molten metal. Then she
relaxed, clasped her arms about herself, shivering, and col-
lecting her book and towel, slowly went back across the
flagstones of the pool deck and disappeared into the house.
Night fell. It was low tide now and the surf was
scarcely more than a whisper. On the poolside table, the
telephone began to ring again. A deputy stationed down
on the beach in the shelter of the rocks could hear it dis-
tinctly. It rang repeatedly, for a long, long time, like the
song of an unfamiliar bird piercing the night. No one an-
swered it. Dade left
Back at the inn, he an armchair, eyes fixed on a
sat in
small, leather-covered traveling chess game, the board now
open, the magnetic chessmen in array, in his lap, an open
copy of a paperback book in which great chess games
were replayed, the final moves which spelled victory and
defeat printed on separate pages at the back. Dade was re-
playing one of the games between Capablanca and Lasker,
from the 1921 match in Havana, when Lasker had lost the
title he had held for twenty-six years. He was playing Las-

kei^s moves.
"I'm going to get your title back for you, Lasker, my
boy." He pondered the little board, doubtful that he could
do anything of the sort.
From time to time, Valdez called, giving Dade progress
reports, or "no progress" reports, as the lieutenant had
wryly taken to calling them, and asking, in a weary voice
which indicated that he already knew the answer, whether
Dade had yet heard anything.
At seven o'clock, when still nothing had happened, El-
len ordered dinner.
Dade said, "What happened to the lobsters?"
She gestured toward the ocean. "I set them free."
 "

260 Murder Mystery

Dade made them both Old Fashioneds, then sat down to
watch the news with the sound turned off. Ellen went into
the bathroom to freshen up.
At 7:25, Pete arrived, putting down his tray and setting
two places. He looked at the set, then at Dade, and said,
"Sir?"
"Yes, my boy?"
"That the news you're watching?"
"Yes, it is."

"Don't you want the sound on?"

"No." Dade sat back, lacing his fingers across his
middle.
Pete came over and watched with him. A ship blew up.
The commentator's face once more filled the screen. "How
come? I mean, that you don't want the sound on?"
"I happen to be thinking."
Dade signed the check and Pete left. Ellen came out of
the bathroom and Dade seated her.
At a little after eight, the phone rang. There was some-
thing different in the tone, it seemed to Dade— the way a
ringing phone sounds when one is afraid of receiving bad
news.
"Hello?" he said into the phone.
"Dade?" said Rachel.
"Hello there."
"Dade, I have to talk to you."
"I must remind you that I don't represent you anymore,
Rachel."
"I don't need an attorney, I need a friend. Dade,
please
—
"All right."
"Not on the phone."
"All right." Dade put down the phone, picked it up
again and punched out the lieutenant's number as he
drank his coffee.
 XXXIII

At the Welles house, he got out of his car and, seeing

lights,walked over to the service entrance, which was
screened by a trellis and bougainvillea. He tried the door
and went inside, finding himself in a large empty kitchen,
the walls done in Spanish tiles, with copper pans hanging
from wrought-iron hooks.
A door was open to the breakfast room, where a light
was on. In there, Rachel was sitting with her elbows on
the table, her face in her hands. The table was French
Provincial and made of fruitwood. In the center there was
a big majolica epergne with half a dozen kinds of out-of-
season fruit heaped on it. From a fixture of Tiffany glass,
down onto the fruit, onto
different-colored lights spilled
the antique polished uneven tabletop and onto Rachel's
auburn hair. It seemed for a moment as if she didn't know
he had entered the room.
She got up wearily. She was wearing faded denims and
an Aran Island pullover, and old tennis shoes with no
socks. She had no jewelry on, not even a watch.
She turned toward him, the thick red fringe of her
lashes blinked two or three times and then the blue eyes
met his. "I don't know what to do," she said.
"What do you want to do, honey?"
"I don't want them to hurt him."
"Why would they want to hurt him?"
"If they come after him and he tries to get away."
"You think that's what he'd do?"
"I don't know. I can't take that chance."
'They're going to find him. Sooner or later."
261
 " "

262 Murder Mystery

"I know that."
"If they find him sooner, it might be the best way to
protect him."
"I love him, Dade."
"It'shard, honey."
"Yes. But with the right defense — well, maybe he's sick
or something."
"That's always possible."
"And there's plenty of money. he couldn't
have the best defense in the world —
It isn't as if

"You should tell him that."

She drew away as if did not trust him. "You mean an-
swer the phone? You know they've tapped the lines." She
rubbed her eyes, trying to think. "They shouldn't have said
on the news that they were after him. They're so stupid. If
they'd said it was suicide, he would have thought it was
safe to come back. They're trying to hunt him down like
an animal! He'll run for his life. They'll comer him. And
you know what they're like! When he won't surrender —
She took an uneven breath.
She went to the dark window and leaned her forehead
against a pane of glass, as if cooling it, staring out blankly
across the garden. Then her expression changed. Dade fol-
lowed her glance. In the distance, he saw the knot of re-
porters gathered outside the gates, buying food from a
sandwich truck near the mobile unit of a television station.
She turned, looking at Dade with the new expression in
her eyes. Then, she opened the door and went out into the
dark garden, crossing toward the high gates, Dade follow-
ing her.
Reporters mobbed the gates when they saw her. The
darkness was pierced with the brief flares of flash bulbs.
The sound of shutters, like insects, clicked all around
them. Rachel unlocked the wrought-iron gates and stepped
through, followed by Dade. Reporters thronged around
her, all of them speaking at once in a fugue of questions.
—
"I want to say " she began. She took a step backward,
a thin forearm raised to shield her eyes against the glare
of the quartz lights which jumped into life, bathing the
driveway in a whitish glow. A red light glowed like a bale-
ful eye as a minicam on a shoulder was aimed at her and
 Murder Mystery 263

a reporter took up a position beside the lens, asking her

questions.
Rachael said, "Please let me say something."
"Is it true that you are married to Nick Levin?" the re-
porter asked.
"Yes."
"Do you know where he is at this time?"
"No."
"Do you think he killed your father?"
"I think
—
" She turned to Dade, a bewildered ex-
pression on her child's face. "I want them to let me talk to
him," she murmured.
"You just tell them that, honey."
"Can you give us any reason why he hasn't come for-
'

ward?"
"He's afraid! I don't know what happened!" She twisted
her hands together and leaned toward the camera, as if
puzzled by her own flattened image reflected back at her
from its convex lens. "Nick?" she said. "Nick, I beg you to
give yourself up. I'm here. You'll be safe. Oh, Nick,
please, I don't want you hurt. They just want to talk to
you. I'm sure there's some explanation. Nick, please,
please give yourself up, for both our sakes."
She turned away then, grabbing Dade's arm, and they
walked quickly back together through the gates.
Back in the house she seemed dazed. He took her small
hands to lead her to a chair and they were ice-cold.
He said, "I don't want you alone here."
"It's all right." Her voice was colorless.
"I'm going to go get Ellen and we're going to stay here
the night."
"That's not necessary."
"I want to do it."
"All right." She rang for Rosarita and asked her to lay
afirein one of the guest rooms.
"You had any dinner, Rachel?"
"I don't want anything to eat."
Dade went to the cupboards in the kitchen, opening
them he found the canned goods. Rosarita watched
until
him, trying to be of help. Forgetting that she -spoke En-
glish, he said, "Sopa?" She found some canned soup. He
264 Murder Mystery
chose beef bouillon and handed it to her, pointing at
Rachel. Rosarita poured the bouillon into a saucepan and
got out some crackers and cheese.
There was a small television set in the kitchen. At nine
o'clock, Dade turned it on, flipping the dial until he found
a channel with the news. He watched it with the sound off.
Rachel sipped her bouillon, staring off into space. Sud-
denly the screen was filled with a picture of the gates to
the Welles house as Rachel came through them, followed
by Dade, the two of them dazzled by the lights, as if, like
an echo, their own immediate past still reverberated. Dade
turned up the sound. Like a revenant, Rachel watched her-
self, heard her own voice plead with Nick. Tears welled in
her eyes.
'Will it do any good?"
"Well see."
Dade by the back door, getting into his car and
left
driving back to the inn.
He said to Ellen, "You see the news?"
"No."
He told her what had happened, adding, "We're going
over there and stay the night with her."
"Does she want us to?"
"I think we should."
She packed a small suitcase. Dade filled his
"All right."
pipe and walked out onto the deck, smoking it. The phone
rang. Ellen answered it, then handed it to Dade, saying,
"The lieutenant."
"Valdez?" he said.
Valdez's voice said, "They've spotted the car. That Pan-
tera he drives."
"Where?"
"South of Porterville, headed west"
"Toward the highway."
"Right."
"They understand that they're to stay clear?"
"They understand."
"I thought we'd go stay the night with her."
"Yeah." Valdez rang off.
Ellen said, "What's going on?"
Dade answered, "Remember that story of the boy's
 Murder Mystery 265
about the watchdog —the man who went back to that of-
fice to get some papers, and then when he was ready to
go—"
"I remember."
'This is like that."
At nine-thirty, Dade and
Ellen left the inn for the
Welles house. When they got there, the reporters were
gone. The place looked deserted after the crowds and
sightseers of the afternoon. Rosarita let them in and took
their suitcase, leading them upstairs to a large comfortable
room next to Rachel's. A
fire burned cheerily in a small
marble-fronted fireplace. Rosarita had put the suitcase on
a luggage stand and was now turning down the sheets on
the fourposter bed.
Ellen said, "Donde estd la sefiorita?"
"Durmienda," Rosarita answered.
Rachel appeared in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a
thin shirt. "No, I'm not. I was going to bed but I just
couldn't" Excusing herself in whispered Spanish, Rosarita
left the room. Rachel said to Ellen, "It's very kind of you
to come be with me."
"You shouldn't be alone at a time like this." Ellen gave
her a reassuring smile.
"Can I get you anything?"
"No, nothing, thanks."
"Have you had dinner?" Rachel asked.
"Yes. What about you?"
"I had a bowl of soup." She smiled wanly at them and
stood there uncertainly. Then opening a pair of French
doors, she led them out onto a balcony which ran along
the back of the house and overlooked the sea. She pointed
to a pergola on the bluff built like a Japanese teahouse
and surrounded by boulders and Korean grass with a carp
pond on one side. "I wanted flowers. The man Miriam got
to do was from Kyoto. He said, 'Flowers sad.' That was
it

the end of my flowers. Nandina, Juniperus prostrata and

five-needled pine. That was it. You're only supposed to
have three elements. Oh, and all the rocks are placed where
they are by tradition. They have names.
"See, by the chrysanthemum well there's a place to
kneel, and then to the left, those rocks are called the
266 Murder Mystery
candle stone, the shelter stone and the kettle stone. That's
where we used to sit when we wanted to be alone and just
talk, Miriam and I. Now, she's gone and all her special
places are still here. That seems funny, doesn't it?"
The doorbell rang. Rachel went out and stood on the
railed gallery. Below them, Rosarita looked out the
peephole and opened the door. Valdez stepped into the en-
trance hall. He took off his cap and looked up at them.
"Miss Welles?" he said.
Rachel glanced around apprehensively, saying to Ellen,
"They've found him. That's it, isn't it? Oh, my God, do
you think something's happened to him?"
Ellen said, "You'd better go down and talk with him.**
Rachel started to shiver. Ellen said, "Put something warm
on."
Rachel called down to Valdez, "Just a minute.** She dis-
appeared into her room and returned a moment later,
struggling into the baggy fisherman's sweater she always
wore. Then, hesitating, she leaned a hand on the railing.
Ellen said, "Are you all right?"
"Yes."
"Come on." Holding her by the arm, Ellen walked her
downstairs. Dade moved away.
Valdez came toward them. "I'm sorry to bother you at
this late hour," he said, "but we want your permission to
station a deputy here in the house, at least for tonight."
"Where's Nick? What's happened?"
"Miss Welles, do I have your permission?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Then you don't know anything?**
"There's nothing I can tell you at this time."
She sighed with relief. "All right. Thank you, Lieu-
tenant. Rosarita will show the deputy where he can sleep."
"He's not going to be sleeping here, Miss Welles."
"No, of course not How stupid of me. Well, good
night, Lieutenant." She turned away and walked back up-
stairs with Ellen. Dade was waiting for them. She said
good night. Ellen embraced her. Rachel walked slowly out
of the room, bare feet soundless on the tiled floor.
Dade looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Ellen be-
gan to undress. "Coming to bed?" she asked.
"I think I'll read for a while." He made himself com-
 Murder Mystery 267

fortable in a chintz-covered armchair by the fire, put his

feet up on a stool and opened a travel book he had found
on a shelf. Ellen gave him a kiss and then sat on the floor
by the fire, leafing through magazines. When a porcelain
bedside clock with an almost inaudible chime struck
eleven, Ellen went to bed. Dade went on reading for a few
minutes, then lie put down the book, turned out the light
and remained where he was, sitting in the dark, waiting.
Midnight struck, then one, then two. Dade got to his
feet and stretched. Then he went through the open French
doors onto the balcony and gazed out at the dark sea,
watching the waves breaking white and phosphorescent at
the bottom of the cliff on which the house was built.
From below came the labored sound of the surf, work-
ing its way up the steep coarse slope of the shallow beach.
A scimitar moon rode in a halo of light. Below, the sea
was almost black. Far out, he could see the running lights
of a fishing boat riding at anchor. Somewhere, a dog
barked.
A sound attracted his attention. He stepped back into
the dark shadow cast by the overhang, trying to identify
what he had heard. Then it came again a creaking —
sound, almost like a hawser. He moved over toward the
bay windows of Rachel's room and peered in. By the light
of the moon, he could see Rachel asleep in bed.
Suddenly the light altered. Something dark blotted out
the moonlight streaming through the French doors. Now
Dade knew what sound he had heard. It was the doors
being forced open. Whatever it was moved in the doorway
slightly. Dade inched forward.
Rachel must have heard the same sound, for she awak-
ened with a start, sat up and remained there motionless
for a moment, then slipped out of bed. She glided away
from the balcony toward the door, then seeing something,
stopped, arrested in motion. The something moved, and
now light from the moon played on it. It was something
unreal, some gleaming black creature still dripping water
from the sea.
Then the light caught the glint of a smile and a voice
said, "Rachel!" It was Nick in a wet suit. He stepped into
her room, pulling off his fins and then his black hood.
 "

268 Murder Mystery

Dade watched. Nick shook his blond head and drops of
sparkling water showered down from him. He took a step
toward her, his bare feet white in the moonlight. "Rachel?
Is me!"
"Nick?" She was disoriented and glanced around invol-
untarily for the lighted face of the clock, as if a clock
were somehow also a compass.
He saw her eyes move toward it and followed her
glance. 'Two o'clock in morning. Is late, huh?" She
seemed to feel an impulse to go to him. She took a step or
two, then drew back. "Rachel," he said, stretching out his
arms to her. "Do not be afraid." He moved toward her.
She shrank back. Now he stretched out his hand, as if to
take hold of her wrist. "You come with me. We go away.
I have boat."
"No!"
"Yes, Rachel. Is best. I am your husband. You will
come with me." He came closer.
"When they're looking for you?" She started to back
away slowly.
"Why do they look for me? I do not understand." He
took another step toward her, then another.
"I want you to talk to them."
"Why?"
"I'm trying to help you. Don't you want me to help
you?" She edged along the wall in the dark room, her
hands behind her.
"Is not good to talk to police, Rachel. What is it I tell
them?"
"Tell them how my father tried to you. How he
came to your apartment yesterday with a
kill

gun —
"It is not the truth."
"But of course it is! You yourself said that to the sher-
iff!"

"You tell me to say that. You say,'He is after you.

Don't say I tell you this. Is too dangerous. Say you saw it
yourself.' You tell me that, Rachel."
"But they're not going to believe that, Nick."
"I will not let you do this!" He took a step toward her.
From behind her back, she took Miriam's gun out of a
 Murder Mystery 269

drawer and pointed it at him. He stared at her, incredu-

lous.She said, "They'll say it was self-defense, Nick."
"You cannot do such a thing!"
She smiled at him then and pulled the trigger.
There was a clicking sound. She pulled it again and
again. When the lights went on, she seemed oblivious of
Dade coming into the room from the balcony, of Valdez
in the doorway across the room. She kept trying to make
the gun fire.

Valdez stepped to her side and began reading her her

rights from a plastic-covered card he had taken out of his
pocket. She seemed indifferent to everything he was say-
ing.
Turning to Dade, she said, "It must have jammed.
Don't you think that's what's the matter?"
'There are no bullets in it, Rachel." He took the gun
from her.
"Oh. So that's what it is."
"We'll have to take you downtown with us now," Val-
dez said.
"I think I should get dressed," she said, looking down at
her pajamas. "Don't you think I should?"
Dade said, "I'm sorry, Rachel, for putting you through
all this. But, you see, we didn't have any proof"
— — he
weighed the gun in his hand "until now."
 XXXIV

Dade and Ellen walked slowly across the driveway toward

their car. Ellen turned for a last look at the Welles house.
As Dade put their overnight case in the trunk, Ellen said
"Why didn't you tell me?"
levelly,
Dade faced her. He said, "The one thing needed to
I
disarm Rachel was your sympathy. And, honey, you were
always a terrible liar."
"I see." Ellen nodded. Then something struck her and
she asked, "But when could she have killed Miriam?"
"She only had one chance and that's the time when she
said she went upstairs to look in on her. She never did.
Because if she had, she would have found Miriam getting
ready to leave. That's what hit me last night when I came
back here alone. No, she couldn't have. Instead, she went
out through the garage and waited on that slope to kill her
father. When she found out it was Miriam she had
killed— that must have been some moment —
she kept her
head. That was the test. If she could get through that, she
could get through anything. My guess is, she didn't know
her father was on the phone till she went back inside to
head him off by saying she'd drive."
Ellen said, "She'd be soaking wet"
"No, she was wearing a waterproof poncho. She even
showed it to me. All she had to do was pull it off and roll
it up. She drove, all right See, her car was in front and

when she told Jensen the driveway was full of mud and
the Rolls might get stuck, he agreed to take Rachel's car
instead."
"She was taking a terrible chance."
270
 "

Murder Mystery 271

"I'm not sure she was. If he'd insisted on taking the

Rolls anyway, they'd just have found the body three hours
sooner. It would still have looked like an accident,
wouldn't it?"
She nodded somberly, then looked at him, puzzled. "But
once the sheriff called it an accident, why on earth try to
prove it was murder?"
'To frame her father. That was Rachel's game from
then on. She must have seen him head back up north
toward the house after she let him off at the Arco station
that night to get Miriam's car. That would place him at
the scene of the crime. That was all she needed. When Gil
—
guessed the truth and tried blackmail, that to her was —
what the Japanese call a happy accident. She had to kill
Gil, so why not make it seem as if her father had done it
and then fake his suicide? Crazy as it seems, it worked
perfectly. The sheriff bought it. If it hadn't been for that
slip-up with the lighting
—
"That's the only mistake she made, isn't it?"
"Well, she has a gift"
"That's an odd thing to say."
"Oh, it's a gift, all right, and it's extraordinarily rare,
something you almost never run into. It's what I'd call a
gift forimprovisation. You know, nothing in life ever
works out quite as planned and that's the thing that trips
most murderers up. They can't cope with the unex-
—
pected especially under real stress. But that's Rachel's
greatest talent."
"Was."
"Was. Hm. Well, we don't know, do we?"
As they were about to get into the car, Brandt led
Rachel out of the house toward a squad car. Her arms
were behind her back and she was handcuffed. Seeing
Dade and Ellen, she hesitated. They went toward her. "I'm
sorry," Dade said again.
Rachel frowned, looking away for a moment. Then she
said to Dade, "You remember my mother, don't you?"
"Yes, Rachel."
"And you know how she died." Dade nodded. Rachel
said in a flat unemotional tone, "What you may not know
is why my father turned to other women. Mother had no
272 Murder Mystery
feelings.No feelings at all. Not for bim. Not for me. I saw
the records at the Mayo Clinic. She was diagnosed as
schizophrenic. Some authorities say it's hereditary. Do you
believe that?"
"I'm not sure."
Taking her arm, Brandt said, "It's time to go now,
miss."
Turning to Ellen, Rachel said, "Could you brush the
hair out of my eyes?" Ellen reached over and smoothed
back the reddish locks from the freckled face. Then
Rachel turned away, not saying good-bye, and let herself
be helped into the squad car.
As it drove away, Dade turned to Ellen and said, "See
what I mean?"
 XXXV
A week later,back in San Francisco, Ellen sat knitting
I quietly while Dade poked the fire. He sat down, stretched,
yawned, picked up his book and resumed reading. After a
j while, he went to the windows and looked out. There was
i a dense fog. It seemed as if the house were swathed in it
! All sound was muted, except for the intermittent moan of
;
a foghorn, like the sound of a dinosaur trapped in a tarpit.
He tried to see out. The mist was impenetrable. It seemed
almost like a wall erected since morning to cut off their
view of the Bay, except for the swirl of mist around the
streetlights. He sighed. Ellen took another sip of tea.
He picked up an ad she had torn out of a department
i store catalogue for a Tibetan lamb jacket. "You thinking
of buying this, honey?"
"Well—"
Think we can afford it?"
"We've saved money lately. Remember when we didn't
go to Mexico?"
"Why don't we not go around the world and then you
can buy yourself sable."
She snatched the ad from his hands, stuffed it into her
work basket and went on with her knitting, ignoring him.
After a few minutes, she asked, "What news from town?"
"My driver on the number fifty-four bus, a nice man

——
from Columbia you know, that little town way up in the
gold country he just couldn't take city life anymore and
he up and quit. Didn't even pack, just ran out of town,
with a whole posse camping on his trail."
"He just went home? That isn't a crime," Ellen said.
273
 274 Murder Mystery

"It is when you number fifty-four bus along^

take the
with you, not to mention some seventy passengers. They
caught up with the poor soul outside Knights Ferry. I
doubt they'll give him more than six months, most likely
suspended. Life here is difficult, my dear. Why, only to-J
day, one of our supervisors was caught in flagrante delicto
with somebody's wife."
"That's not news anymore."
"It is if you ran on a gay ticket." He sat down again,
picking up his book and leafing through it slowly. After a
few minutes, he glanced up over his spectacles, reached
out and lifted up a length of the dark-blue knitting and ex-
amined it. Ellen continued clicking away with her needles.
"What are you knitting?"
"A man." He peered at her over the top of his book.
She never home. Years ago, there was
said, "Well, you're
a cartoon in The New Yorker of an old maid doing just
that and I decided if I were ever lonely, I'd knit one my-
self. I'm going to stuff it and, nights when you're not
home, hell sit in your chair, just like that inflated rubber
man Tootie Featherstone drives around with when she has
to go out after dark." He had gone back to his book. She
said, "Darling, what are you reading?"
"Fm planning our trip."
"To Egypt?"
"This trip's in midsummer. Can't go to Egypt then. And
with a whole atlas to choose from, why suffer the heat?
Why should I do such a thing to my little flower? No, no,
we can't go to Egypt in July. My dear, why are you look-
ing at me in that way?"
"Where, then?"
"It's going to be a surprise. Where Tm taking you."
"Surprise me now."
"Someplace off the beaten track. Honey, this here's a
|
gold mine of articles for you to write. Nobody's been there
in forty or fifty years."
"Where?"
"Albania."
"Albania?" She put down her knitting and stared at him
I
open-mouthed. "I never know when to believe you."
"I'm serious."
 " "

Murder Mystery 275

"I don't even think I know where Albania is."

"A little south of ancient Illyria. You remember your
Twelfth Night?"
"Remind me."
"It's a littlehard to explain. Maybe there's a map in this
book. It's quite a place."
"How do you know?"
"I once had the pleasure of meeting the late King Zog
at a reception. Full of enthusiasm for his native land."
"Oh, really? And what did he say about it?"
"I'm not sure. His language is almost unknown beyond
his borders, so he learned several others but, alas, he was
incoherent in all of them. Would you like to hear about
Albania?"
"No."
'The coast is forbidding. And then there's this enor-
mous marsh where malaria is still something of a problem.
And that separates the coast from the rest of the country.
There are almost no railroads and, as the Britannica says,
*No bridge crosses the Drin in its gorge section, and as it
is too deep to be forded, the inhabitants usually cross it by

swimming, supported by inflated skins.'

"Oh, my God."
"The language, according to one of my sources, is 'seri-
ously deficient,' or would be except for the borrowed Latin
words, and so far as I can determine, it has no known
literature. That's where you come in."
"Stop it, stop it!"
"And we'll just take us a little toot off to this sleeping
beauty of a country, if I can just find a way into the place.
I guess we'll charter us a plane into Tirana, but it seems
like cheating."
—
"Dade " She sharpened her glance.
The phone rang. It was Ballinger, calling from Los An-
geles. The conversation was brief, Dade only listening and
murmuring assent. Finally, he said, "All right, all right
Tomorrow." He put down the phone and said to Ellen
with a slow smile, "We have to go back down south."
"What on earth for?"
"They want me to give them a deposition."
"But I thought you already
—
276 Murder Mystery
*This is a new problem."
"What?"
-About the will."
"Miriam's?"
"Old Arnold's."
"I don't understand."
"Rachel's going to have a baby.**
"You're kidding."
"No, it happens."
"I would've thought she was impregnable." She sat
looking at him steadily. Then after a long moment, he
broke into a surprised smile, and carefully added the word
to his list.

"Thank you," he said.

cr
Ellen returned his smile, then she said, Well, she can't
profit from committing a crime. The money all goes to
charity. You said so yourself."
"Not if there's a great-grandchild born within twenty-
one years of the death of Old Arnold."
"You're not serious!"
"I am serious! Baby didn't commit the crime. Baby
comes into the world innocent. This baby also comes into
the world as sole heir to a very rapidly growing hundred
million dollars. And guess who's going to sue for cus-
tody?"
"Who?"
"None other than the loving father, Nick."

Ballinger's office was in Westwood and, after the deposi-

tion, Dade and Ellen strolled with the crowds. In the last
few years, a kind of passeggiata had sprung up there.
Throngs of students filled the streets, swarming past long
lines in front of the movie theaters, open-air caf6s, bou-
tiques selling handmade jewelry, incense, sandals, tarot
cards, leather goods, clothes and book and record stores.
Most of the shops, like the cafes and restaurants, were
open late. Street musicians sang, accompanying themselves
on guitars. The air had spring's softness. The young peo-
ple were all athletic, suntanned and good-looking, as if
Lysenko had been right, after all, and generations of nose-
fixings and orthodonture had finally had genetic conse-
 Murder Mystery 277
quences. It seemed to Dade that the look he now saw
in the streets was a race being born, a new breed sprung
from the blood of the stars.
As they walked, Dade took Ellen's hand. "It's the
damnedest thing. Nettie actually claimed the Raphael,
saying she'd inherited it —
which was perfectly true.
Wouldn't give it up."
"But you said yourself you can't inherit stolen goods.**
"Yes, but she said, 'All right, take me to court and
prove that it was stolen.' For ten million dollars, that's a
lot of proving. Nettie could have tied it up for years. The
French authorities made a deal with her."
"Well, I'm just as glad. I hate to think of her broke. I
couldn't bear pitying her. I would have to drop her."
"My dear, you are as sensitive as a mimosa. But you
needn't fret. Tney gave her a staggering amount of money
to drop the suit. Want to stop by and congratulate her?"
"Of course not!" She reflected. Then she gave him an
."
impish smile. "But we could just pay a call . .

When they rang the bell at the gallery, Nettie opened

the door. She wore a pink plaid couturier suit and her hair
had been cut in a way that made her look surprisingly
youthful. Her eyes sparkled. She greeted them both with
kisses and a radiant smile. "Oh, my funny eyes! Are you
looking at them?" She paused by a Venetian mirror, study-
ing herself. "I look like a mongrel, don't I? I'm thinking of
getting myself contact lenses and finally making them both
the same color, but I can't decide whether to go blue or
brown. Well, come on up!"
She led them through the gallery and up the covered
stairway from the courtyard to her apartment. The living
room was dim and at first they didn't see the figure
sprawled on the floor, drink in hand, watching television.
Then, the head turned toward them and they saw the
handsome Baryshnikov face, the sudden smile. Nick
scrambled to his feet, greeting them. Nettie sat down on a
little sofa, motioning them to a velvet love seat. Nick

squatted cross-legged on the floor.

"Well, how are you, Nick?" Dade asked.
"I am very sad. I am just now fighting to get the cus-
278 Murder Mystery
tody of my dear unborn baby. This so beautiful and
matchless lady here, she is helping me."
"Is that so?" said Ellen.
"Is so." He pulled absent-mindedly at the threads in the
rug.
Nettie stroked his head, running her fingers through his
curly gold hair, saying, "I was going to get a cat."
When they left and the heavy door of the gallery closed
behind them, Ellen said to Dade, "I want one, too.*'
"Now, that's enough." He shook a finger at her.
"Buy me one, Daddy."
"I said, that's enough."
"Please, Daddy?"
"One more time and you'll be sorry, Ellen.**
"You won't take me to Albania?"
"No, I'll leave you there."
They walked out into the pale spring evening, crossed
Melrose Place and headed toward Le Restaurant, arm in
arm.
When they were seated, a balding waiter with a pencil
mustache came up and bowed, saying, "My name is Vic-
tor."
"Fm Dade and this here's the little woman, Ellen
—**

The waiter bowed again and hurried away.

Dade said, rubbing his eyes, 'This whole thing is begin-
ning to get on my nerves. Me, I've about had my fill of

the Renaissance and that's where all these people ought to

be living. I ever tell you that story about the good people
of Siena? See, they had this fella who had freed them
from foreign aggression and they were trying to figure out
how to —
recompense him tried every way under the
sun —
and when nothing seemed good enough, they decided
to kill him and then worship him as their patron saint
That's the Renaissance for you." His features relaxed in a
vapid smile.
She gave him a speculative glance. "What are you grin-
ning about?"
"I think I'm going to take up modern art," he went on
blandly. "I need a change. I didn't used to like it. Once I
met Max Beerbohm. I ever tell you this? He didn't like it,
either. He said to me — this here's a true story, honey—
 "

Murder Mystery 279

said tome that someday, they were going to find out that
not only was the emperor naked but that he had very bad
"

skin."
"Dade—"
A wine steward filled their glasses.
"Well," Dade said, "I don't know about you but come
summer, I'm leaving for Albania."
"I have a little going-away present for you."
"What?"
She made a familiar Italian gesture with her hand and
said, "CiaoV He looked at her, puzzled. Then his face lit
up. He pulled out his little notebook and gold pencil and
wrote down the word.
Then he said, "As a reward, I'm going to tell you the
dirt about Chloe."
"What dirt?"
been saving it. If I'd told you this afternoon,
"I've
would have been spoiled. But now
— it

"What about Chloe?"

"Nick went to her first**
"He did what?"
"Fact. She was interested. But Nettie outbid her."
"Oh, my God— !"
"Honey, this here's a fancy place '' —
"Oh, my God, oh, my Godl"
A different waiter came up, a patronizing young man.
He took out his pad and pencil and bowed.
"O temporoy O mores,'* Dade murmured.
The waiter consulted the menu to see where it was. He
frowned and excused himself.
"I don't think I'm ready for Albania, Dade."
"Then where, honey?"
Take me back to France."
"Honey," he said, "if that's what you want, not only m
take you there but 111 even throw in a rendition of the
'Marseillaise.' Would you like that?"
"I'd love it."
"Well, here goes." He got to his feet, glass in hand, and
turned toward the room, saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, I
will now lead you in the French national anthem."
He began to sing. A number of customers struggled to
280 Murder Mystery
their feet. A
black-suited headwaiter started toward them,
his head lowered. Ellen ran around the table and tried to
pull Dade back into his chair. He continued singing, his
Everybody in the restaurant now joined in.
glass lifted.
The headwaiter, arrested in mid-career, began singing with
them. Then they sat down again.
Ellen said under her breath, "I'm going to kill you."
"What's one murder more or less?"
"That's just how I feel."
They clinked glasses. Athird waiter appeared and they
ordered dinner.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
gene Thompson, a native of San Francisco,
graduated from the University of California at
Berkeley, after which he worked and studied in
Europe for some time. Subsequently, he and his
wife, also a writer, moved to Malibu with their
four children and have lived there for the past
sixteen years.

281
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 WAS IT GREED OR LOVE
THAT KILLED THE BEAUTY?
When wealthy art collector Miriam Welles
is crushed to death by her own Rolls
Royce, the police call it a tragic accident.
But her lawyer— the delightfully quirky
Dade Cooley— arrives in L.A. and quickly
determines that, though the Rolls was
empty, there was definitely a driving force
behind Miriam s untimely demise.
An abundance of suspects, multiple motives.
and even more conspicuous killings
revolve around a very special painting and
add up to a crackling good

MURDER
MYSTERY
San Diego Union
*T/?e
**New York Magazine
***Cleveland Plain Dealer

70999 00225

ISBN D-BMS-ETfiTE-b Cover printed in US/