“And I’ve seen them too,” Paris said. “That’s the most logical way of looking at it and part of it might be right. Because there were a half-dozen rowboats tied up at the wharf of Sunset Harbor and the killer could have used any one of them.”
“Those boats belong to the cabin cruisers in the basin,” Kay said. “Whose boat did he use?”
“A Mr. Fred Lincolns,” Paris said. “Coyne sent a man over to the wharf. They found one of the motors was warm. But it was wiped clean of prints.”
“I know Mr. Lincoln,” Kay said. “A fine man. He owns the Lincoln Manufacturing Company and he’s had a summer home here for fifteen years.”
“I’ll go along with that too,” Paris said. “The killer just happened to pick his boat. They think the gun used is the one that was in the desk drawer, the .357 Magnum. That’s missing. From the type of the wounds, it was a power weapon. A Magnum is a gun with tremendous shock power. They’ve got the bullets and they’re calibrating them now at the lab. But without the gun, the micrometer reading isn’t much good. Bullets lose their shape once they’re fired.”
“I figured everything was scientific now,” Kay said.
“Up to a point,” Paris said. “Well, that’s the story to date, Chief.” He stood up and looked at the Endicott house. “Right now I’d like to talk to Mrs. Endicott. Would you come with me?”
“I sure would,” Kay said. “So far I ain’t been of much use around here. There’s troopers all around asking questions, but nobody’s told me to do anything. I sure want to help. I’d known Mr. Charles for a long time and I never knew a finer boy. It kind of hurts inside.”
“I know,” Paris said. “I’ve got the same hurt.”
“And something else keeps bothering me,” Kay said.
“What’s that?” Paris asked, walking with him toward the entrance of the house.
“You’re up against a killer who ain’t afraid of cops,” Kay said. “He’s killed one cop already, and he was a good one. That’s why you’d better watch yourself, Inspector. You come too close to him and he’ll try to get you too.”
3
THEY WENT UP THE BROAD PORTICO, PAST THE STATE trooper on guard there, and rang the bell. They stepped inside. The foyer was dim and cool. Near the door there was a large inlaid wood table with a silver card tray on it. The rug was deep, rich and Oriental. There were chairs with gilt legs and high backs, finished in tapestry. To their left was the wide staircase. The newel post was intricately carved mahogany, the balusters shiny with polish.
At the far end of the hall a door opened. A woman, middle-aged and thin, came down to meet them. She was wearing a gray starched uniform with white collar and cuffs. Her face was worn and tired, her eyes swollen red.
“Elizabeth,” Kay said to her, “you’ve been crying.”
“All these years with Mr. Charles,” the woman said. “I watched him grow up. That boy was more like a son to me.”
“We all watched him grow,” Gus Kay said. “That’s the sad part of it.” He put his hand up and pinched the skin between his eyes. “Well, this is Inspector Paris, Elizabeth. Inspector, Elizabeth Davis. She’s the housekeeper here. We’ve been friends twenty years or more.”
“This policeman is a young one, Gus,” Elizabeth Davis said to him. “They’re all so much younger these days.”
“The Inspector is young, but he’s good,” Kay said. “You’ll see.”
She looked at Paris. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to see my husband Henry too.”
“Yes,” Paris said. “It would save time.”
“I’ll fetch him,” she said. She left the foyer. Paris, moving near to the wall, touched a large black-onyx pedestal with a carved ivory figure on it.
“Antique,” Kay said to him. “You’ll see a lot of them around here.”
“I’d like to look at the library first,” Paris said.
“It’s down this way,” Kay said.
Paris followed him down a carpeted hallway. There was a massive, burled-walnut door. Kay stopped, opened it gingerly.
The library was big. There was a large walnut flat-topped desk, and a high-backed leather chair behind it. Along one side was a large fireplace with a woven-mesh fire screen. Above the black marble mantel there was an oil painting in a gilt frame, the picture of a man with a calm, serene face and a white Vandyke beard.
Along the back of the room there were two large windows and a glass door, affording a view of the ocean. Paris moved across the room and opened the door. He stepped out. There was a tiled terrace with a filigreed iron railing and it ran the length of the house. Paris went by the leather-and-chrome chaise longues and over to the edge of the railing. Looking down he saw the eroded bluff, the rocks piled beneath it. A pair of stone jetties extended out into the water. Between them was a small sandy beach, and on it, directly below the bluff, was a yellow-striped canvas cabana. To his left was the steel-and-concrete stairway that led down to the dock. Tied to the pier, and rising and falling with the ground swell, was a mahogany-trimmed runabout with a canvas-covered outboard.
Paris turned and went inside again. Chief Kay was standing in the middle of the library, his face set and thoughtful.
“What else leads onto the terrace?” Paris asked him.
“The living room and the dining room,” Kay said,
“What about the glass door? Was it locked when you got here?”
“No. It was wide-open. I remember that.”
“Is there a wall safe here?”
“Yes.”
“Anything missing?”
“No. I heard Mrs. Endicott tell Coyne that. It wasn’t tampered with.”
Paris went over to the desk. “Were any of these drawers open?”
“No. But that’s where Mr. Charles kept the Magnum revolver.”
Paris turned around. He walked ten feet across the floor and bent down to the broad, dark stains in the middle of the Oriental rug. “And this is where the bodies were? Ten feet from the desk?”
“Yes,” Kay said. He pointed. “Mr. Charles was laying here. Hallmark’s body was kind of twisted, and facing toward the opposite wall.”
“Face down?”
“Yes.”
“Where was his right hand?”
Kay took off his cap and rubbed the back of his head. “Under his coat.”
“Near his gun?”
“Yes. I guess he did make a try for it.”
“Coyne said Mr. Endicott’s wallet was on the floor. Where was that?”
“Right near the body.”
“The wallet was open,” Paris said. “There was over five hundred dollars in there and it wasn’t touched. Something else was taken.”
“That’s what I figured,” Kay said. “The slip of paper with the car registration on it.”
“Yes,” Paris said. He straightened up. He went over to the walnut door and tried the Yale-type lock. “And this door was locked?”
“No,” Kay said. “It was open when Coats and I got here. Henry Davis was standing in front of it.”