“I was busy,” Gregory said.
“Well, go on in, now that you’re here. Old Goat Face and Keegan are still snoopin’ around inside.”
Gregory pushed the door open and went into the bedroom. Doctor Chicory was standing beside the big bed, carefully repacking his instrument case. He was a thin, dry little man with white hair and a white beard. He chewed gum constantly, and the waggle of his bearded jaw did make him look startlingly like a goat. He wore rimless nose glasses that glinted brightly when he moved his head. He had a soft, drawling voice that could be viciously sarcastic when he chose to make it so.
“Ah, Doctor,” he said cordially. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” Gregory said. “Sorry I’m late.”
Chicory smiled at him. They were old friends.
“Quite all right. No hurry.”
Detective Keegan was standing with his back to the room, looking out the window, and he turned around now. He was a soft, fat man with a pinkly dimpled face. His wide mouth dropped in a petulant pout. He drew his breath in deeply and expelled it with a little hiccough.
“Now, Doctor Gregory,” he said importantly. He talked in a pompous whine. He hated Gregory. He hated his quiet efficiency, his air of grave courtesy. He hated him all the more because he knew Gregory was well aware of how Keegan felt and didn’t care in the slightest. “I don’t want to quarrel with you, not at all. But you know your duties as a doctor.”
“Thanks,” said Gregory.
The soft bulge of Keegan’s neck above his collar reddened. “When you report a death like this, or when you are in attendance when it is reported, then you’re supposed to stay here until the authorities arrive! You don’t have any right to tamper in things like this! You have no official position!”
Gregory smiled at him in an amused way. Before he could answer, Chicory spoke in his dry, precise voice as calmly as if he were discussing the weather.
“Keegan, I’ve often told you that both your face and your voice grated on any person with decent sensibilities. You can’t do much about your face, unfortunately, but you can keep your mouth shut, and I suggest you do it.”
Keegan choked incoherently, staring at him with furious, bulging eyes.
Chicory smiled benignly. “My dear Keegan, I am the County Medical Examiner, and you are only a detective — and not a very good one at that. Just keep it carefully in mind. Doctor Gregory and I wish to discuss this case. Either keep still or get out.”
Keegan found his voice. “I won’t! I’ve got a right—”
“Not while I’m in charge, you haven’t,” Chicory said.
“I want to ask him about that girl!”
“Girl?” Gregory repeated. “What girl?”
“That damned ex-convict companion of Mrs. Van Tellen’s! Did you see her around here?”
“Is she involved?” Gregory inquired.
Keegan’s eyes were brightly malicious. “A little! Yeah, I’d say she was! Her fingerprints were on the knife!”
“What knife?” Gregory asked, puzzled. “Do you mean you’ve found the murder weapon?”
Keegan stared at him incredulously. “Found it! Hell, yes! It was stickin’ right in the old lady! How could we help but find it?”
Gregory turned his head to look at Chicory.
The little medical examiner nodded once, precisely. “Yes, Doctor. Keegan very seldom gets things correctly, but this time he happens to be right. The knife was in the wound that killed Mrs. Van Tellen, and the girl’s fingerprints were on the hilt.”
“There was no knife m the wound when I saw it,” Gregory said.
“What!” Keegan exclaimed. “Why, you’re crazy—” He stopped and let out his breath slowly. He began to smile in a sly, knowing way. “Oh. So that’s the way it is. I understand she’s very pretty and—”
“Keegan!” said Chicory.
“Well, he’s trying to protect her! You can see that! He’s just lying.”
“Keegan,” said Chicory. “Get out of here.”
“I won’t! You and he will get together and cook up a bunch—”
“Ah,” said Chicory in a quietly satisfied away. He began to take off his coat.
Keegan backed up two steps. His plump cheeks lost their color. His eyes were worried, and they shifted uneasily from Gregory, who was still smiling a little, to Chicory.
“Well, I didn’t really mean...”
Chicory removed his glasses and laid them carefully on his coat. Keegan walked very quickly to the door. He stopped there and turned around.
“Well, you’re in charge here now, but you just wait.”
Chicory took a step toward him, and Keegan went through the door and slammed it defiantly after him. Chicory picked up his coat and put it on again. He put on his glasses and winked at Gregory.
“Yellow,” he said. “As yellow as a pound of butter, our friend Keegan. I like to watch him squirm. That’s the trouble with holding a public office like this one of mine. You are forced to associate with scum.”
“Could I see the kife you found in the wound?” Gregory asked.
Chicory shook his head. “I’m sorry. It isn’t here. The fingerprint expert took it back to his office with him to check it more carefully. I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it, though, Doctor. The fingerprints were the girl’s. The expert located a number of her prints in her room and they checked.”
Gregory frowned. “I can’t understand the knife being in the wound. It actually was not there when I first saw the body. I examined the wound, not very extensively, but I would certainly have seen the knife if it had been there.”
“Surely,” said Chicory. “It means that someone put it in the wound after you saw the body. But the fingerprints?”
Gregory shrugged. “I don’t know. What kind of a knife was it?”
“A long, slim dagger. A piognard. It was one of those medieval things. Keegan found where it had come from. It had been hanging up in the front hall on the wall, sort of an ornament.”
“Speaking of ornaments,” Gregory said, “have you ever seen anything like this before?”
He reached in his pocket and brought out the black gargoyle doll that had been hanging against the window of the black sedan. He held it up by the string attached to its neck, and the springy arms and legs jiggled in a fantastic shimmy. The thing had a painted face that was sketched in a set, cannabilistic leer with thick red lips and goggling eyes. The body was stuffed cloth. The legs and arms were tensed wires.
Chicory stared, wide-eyed. “Where on earth did you get that?”
“I found it,” Gregory said. “Ever see anything like it before?”
“Yes. Wait, now.” Chicory scratched his head. “Where did I see the thing? Oh, yes! My grandniece!”
“What?” Gregory asked.
“My little grandniece has one just exactly like it. She was playing with it the last time I was over at their house. I remember I remarked about it. I didn’t think it was a very cheery looking object for a child to be playing with. But then, as is usually the case in my family, I was overruled.”
“Do you know where your grandniece got it?” Gregory asked.
Chicory nodded. “Surely. My nephew and his wife went to the opening of the Harlem Club. These little beggars were given away as favors on the opening night.”
“The Harlem Club,” Gregory repeated.
“Yes. I gave them a good talking to for going there. That place is a fire trap if I ever saw one. People think because a building sets near the water it won’t burn, but that doesn’t always follow.”
“The place is closed now, isn’t it?” Gregory asked.
“Yes!” said Chicory, “and a good thing, too! I don’t approve of places like that. Brings in a bad element. Makes more trouble for the authorities.”
“Who ran the place?”
“Fellow by the name of Steve Karl. Very unsavory character. I was against granting him a license when he applied for it, but that’s all the good it did me.”
“Is he still in town?”
“Yes. Lives out at the place there. He’s looking for some new capital to reopen, I understand. I hope he doesn’t find it. I’d like to see that rat’s nest burn down with him in it. Why do you ask?”
“I think I’d like to have a talk with Steve Karl,” Gregory said slowly.