“I don’t know what to say. Is Jimmy plastered? This early in the morning?” She laughed, but she was embarrassed and, Ellery thought, a little scared.
“Looked to me,” said the Inspector, “as if he knew just what he was doing. Hey, Ellery?”
“Looked to me like the basis for a nuisance charge.”
“All right,” laughed Celeste, eying the repairs. “But I really don’t know what to say.” She was dressed less modishly this morning, but it was a new dress. Her own, thought Ellery. Bought with Simone’s money.
“It’s a situation not covered by Miss Post. I imagine James will go into it in detail at the first opportunity.”
“Sit down, Miss Phillips, sit down,” said the Inspector.
“Thank you. But what’s the matter with him? He seemed upset. Is anything wrong?”
“First time I told a girl I loved her, I found myself making pleats in her father’s best derby. Ellery, were you expecting Miss Phillips this morning?”
“No.”
“You told me to come when I had something to report, Mr. Queen.” Her black eyes were troubled. “Why did you ask me to find out everything I could about Jimmy McKell?”
“Remember our compact, Celeste?”
She looked down at her manicured nails.
“Now, Ellery, don’t be a fuddy-duddy before your time,” said the Inspector genially. “A kiss cancels all contracts. Why, Miss Phillips, there’s no mystery about it. Jimmy McKell is a newspaperman. This might have been a dodge for him to get in on the inside of the Cat case, beat other reporters to news breaks. We had to be sure Jimmy’s interest was personal, as he claimed. Do you find him a straight-shooter?”
“He’s simply drearily honest. If that’s what you’re worried about...”
“Well, that’s that, isn’t it?” beamed the Inspector.
“But as long as you’re here, Celeste,” said Ellery, “you may as well tell us the rest.”
“I really can’t add anything to what Jimmy told you about himself last week. He’s never got along with his father and, since he got out of the Service, they hardly speak to each other, because Jimmy insists on living his own life. He really does pay his father $18 a week for board.” Celeste giggled. “Jimmy says he’s going to make it $75 as soon as the lawyers unwind all the red tape.”
“Lawyers?”
“Oh, that business of his grandfather’s estate.”
“His grandfather,” said the Inspector. “Now, let’s see. That would be...”
“Mrs. McKell’s father, Inspector. He was a very rich man who died when Jimmy was 13. Jimmy and his sister were their mother’s father’s grandchildren and he left a big estate for them in trust. The income from the estate was to start being paid when each grandchild reached the age of 30. Monica’d been collecting her share for seven years, but Jimmy wasn’t due to start for five years more, or whenever it is. The only thing is, now Jimmy will get the whole thing, because under his grandfather’s will if one of the two grandchildren died the entire estate — principal and income — was to go to the survivor at once. There’s millions in the estate and Jimmy’s sick about the whole thing, I mean the way it’s coming to him. Through Monica’s death and all... what’s the matter?”
Ellery was looking at his father. “How was that missed?”
“I don’t know. None of the McKells said a word about an existing trust from an outside source. Of course, we’d have found out eventually.”
“Found out what?” asked Celeste fretfully.
Neither man answered.
After a moment she got up. “Do you mean...”
“The fact is,” said Ellery, “the death of Monica McKell means a fortune to her brother, who lives on a reporter’s salary. It’s what’s known in our depressing profession, Celeste, as a motive.”
“Motive.”
Rage reshaped her. It was an alteration that began deep inside, like the first tiny release of energy in the heart of an explosive. Then it burst, and Celeste sprang.
Even as he felt the rip of her fingernails, Ellery thought absurdly: Like a cat.
“To use me to trap him!”
She kept screaming as Ellery seized the clawing hand and his father came up fast from behind.
“To think Jimmy’d do a thing like that! To think it! I’m going to tell him!”
Sobbing, she wrenched away and ran.
They saw Jimmy McKell step out of the basement areaway as the front door burst open and Celeste Phillips flew out. He must have said something, because the girl whirled, looking down. Then she ran down the brownstone steps and hurled herself at him. She was crying and talking wildly. When she stopped, he said something to her very quietly and she put her hand to her mouth.
Then a cab veered inquiringly toward the curb and Jimmy held the door open and Celeste crept in. He got in after her and the cab raced off.
“End of an experiment,” sighed Ellery. “Or the beginning of one.”
Inspector Queen grunted. “Do you believe that baloney you sliced for McKell about ABC, D, X, and what have you?”
“It’s possible.”
“That somebody connected with only one of the seven murders is behind all of them as a coverup?”
“It’s possible.”
“I know it’s possible! I asked you if you believe it.”
“Can you be certain someone connected with only one of the seven murders isn’t behind all of them?”
The Inspector shrugged.
Ellery tossed the stained handkerchief on the sofa. “As far as Celeste and Jimmy are concerned, the way they came to me logically admitted of suspicion. The fact that each one has just disclosed information damaging to the other, viewed without sentiment and on its own merits, only enlarges the suspicion area. Still, I’m willing to go on belief — I don’t believe either is the Cat, no. There’s a factor that goes beyond logic. Or maybe,” said Ellery, “maybe I’m rusty. Do you suppose that could be it?”
“You’re not convinced.”
“Are you?”
“You’ll be questioning me next!”
“Or myself.”
The Inspector reached for his hat, scowling. “I’m going downtown.”
6
The Cazalis phase of the investigation ran into shoal water immediately.
As originally charted by Dr. Cazalis, the psychiatric inquiry was to be a fishing expedition of all the specializing physicians in the local field, a sort of grand fleet sailing under a unified command. But it became evident that the expedition would have to be remapped. Each specialist, it appeared, was his own captain, guarding his nets and lines and the secrets of his fishing grounds with Japanese zeal. He regarded his catch as his exceptional property and no other fisher should have them.
To the credit of most, their scruples were largely ethical. The sanctity of the physician-patient confessional could not, in propria persona, be invaded even by other physicians. Dr. Cazalis surmounted the first obstacle by proposing the adoption of a published-case history technique. Each psychiatrist was to go through his files, select his possibilities on the broadest base, and make transcripts in which all identifying allusions were to be altered, leaving only the initials of the patient for reference. This suggestion was approved. When the case histories came in a five-doctor central board, headed by Dr. Cazalis, was to go work. The board was to consider each history, rejecting those which in the consultative view were unlikely. By this method many persons would be screened out while being spared the violation of their privacy.
Here, however, agreement went aground.
How were the remaining cases to be treated? Anonymity could be preserved only so far. Then names must be disclosed.