He opened the other three drawers of the steel filing case. They were all bare.
What could she have wanted to lift, here? Echo answers what, thought Hackett irritably. Had she been putting something in the trunk? Go and look. Sure, without a warrant, and get hauled across the coals for it. Ten to one the trunk was locked anyway… Funnily enough, his sister' s Dodge had a trunk lid like that. If she forgot to lock it, it was always flying up.
He walked down the hall, out the side door, and around Miss Corliss' eight-year-old Plymouth. The trunk was locked.
As he came back she was saying into the phone, "Mr. Weatherby? This is Dr. Nestor's nurse, Miss Corliss. I'm so sorry-" She had the phone on her lap, the appointment book on the desk before her.
Hackett sat down at Nestor's desk again. Nestor had been doing right well indeed, for a chiropractor in practice only three years. Of course, he gathered that some people swore by them, wouldn't go to an M.D. on a bet. But he seemed to remember that they were legally limited in certain ways, couldn't write prescriptions except for vitamins or give shots.
He opened the desk drawers. There wasn't much in any of them. A couple of prescription-form pads with Nestor's name and office address printed on them, a couple of ballpoint pens, in the top drawer. The next one down was filled with sample packages, mostly of different vitamins. In the bottom drawer he found a half-empty fifth of scotch, an expensive brand. The other drawers were empty. It looked as if Nestor hadn't used his desk much.
He got up and walked round the little office. The bookcase held mostly medical textbooks. But thrust carelessly on top of the books on the middle shelf was a large scrapbook with simulated leather covers. He took it out and opened it, and had a little surprise.
Evidently, and maybe it figured, Nestor had been a snob. Interested in high society. The book was half filled with clippings from newspaper society pages, and quite a few pictures. Mr. and Mrs. E. Montague Fairfield have announced the engagement… The Richard Priors and their twin daughters Jean and Janet were entertained at a formal dinner by our charming visitors from Paris, M. and Mme… The well-known hostess and clubwoman, Mrs. Lyman Haines, in her Bel Air home, displays Loper's new informal at-home gown, while her daughter Sheila…
A little funny, thought Hackett. There were several clippings not yet taped in; the uppermost one was quite a lengthy article, and the name Marlowe caught his eye. He scanned it briefly.
Mr. and Mrs. William Maxwell Marlowe have announced the engagement of their youngest daughter, Susan, to Baxter W. Stevens III. Miss Marlowe…
High society, all right. Hackett put the book down and did some more looking. Wandered down to the examination rooms. This kind of equipment, he thought, was probably damned expensive, and both examination rooms were fitted out the same. Both had tiled sinks. The steel examination tables, with handles to tilt them in various directions, and those gadgets for taking blood pressure, the latest type, attached to the wall. Steel lockers against the wall. Metal tables bearing glass jars of cotton swabs, tongue depressors, a lot of bottles filled with tablets and capsules. He opened the locker in the first room; it was empty. The other one had a padlock on it; he had Nestor's keys, found one that fitted the padlock. Inside the locker was a wrinkled white smock hanging neatly on a hook, and on the little shelf, folded together, a pair of rubber gloves.
Quite expectable, he thought sadly. What the hell was wrong here? Just something a little funny, that he couldn't put a finger on.
Palliser had found an address book in the desk. See what showed up there, but…
And back in the office, with Miss Corliss still telephoning in the background, he thought abruptly that those two examination rooms hadn't been quite the same. He went back to the rear one, next to the office. Near the door stood an electric cabinet, squarish, about three feet high. That hadn't been duplicated in the other room. It was white porcelain, baked enamel, and across its front was a neat metal plaque. Sterilizer.
"I guess that musta been the guy killed Roberto all right," said Miguel Garcia. He was still half scared, self-important, self-conscious, genuinely awed at his own good luck. "I guess it was lucky I ran."
"Maybe it was," said Palliser, beginning to feel a little hopeful. It was after five; he wondered if Bert or Landers had come up with anything at one of the hotels. He'd taken part of the hotel list himself, had drawn blank, and then started to hunt up all the boys who'd been at that Scout meeting. Miguel was the ninth one he'd talked to; none of the others had known anything. He'd found Miguel in this big schoolyard, pointed out by a couple of other kids, and was talking to him here on a rickety wooden bench in the still hot sun. Of course, he remembered absently, actually it was only a little after four, sun time.
"Tell me exactly what happened, Miguel." He lit a cigarette. "Everything you remember."
"Yes, sir. Excuse me, but nobody's supposed to smoke on the school ground.” Palliser started to say that it didn't matter, it was after school hours and he was grown up, and met Miguel's solemn dark eyes, and stepped on his cigarette. A kid like Miguel, several counts on him already, who unlike some kids down here seemed to have some respect for the rules, and parents who encouraged him to join the Scouts-well, no harm to set an example. He smiled at Miguel, who was small for his fourteen years and a nice-looking boy, if slightly grimy at this end of a day.
"Let's hear all about it."
"Yes, sir. Gee, it's awful-Roberto getting killed like that. When we heard about it, Danny Lopez was telling about it at lunchtime, gee, I thought right off it musta been that guy-and I better tell somebody about it, I was goin' to ask my dad when he gets home tonight-"
"Well, you tell me now."
"Yes, sir. See, like I was just tellin' you, I'm the only one went the same way as him, goin' home last night." A couple of the boys had been called for by a parent, an older brother or sister, but most of them hadn't been. Down here, kids were expected to be self-reliant pretty young. And it wouldn't have been quite dark yet, what with daylight saving-full dark about eight-twenty, in July. Dusk, deepening dusk, as the boys walked along Second Street. "So we went together, I mean, I kind of I caught up to Roberto, he left first. At the corner of Corto, about there. See, I had a lot further to go, we live on Angelina."
Palliser produced a city map and made him point out the place. Miguel was unhesitant. "See, I'd go the other way, up Douglas Street, about a block further along. It was the middle of that block, just before I'd go the other way 'n' Roberto'd be turning up Beverly, see. There was this guy standin' there by the curb-just standin' there's all." He warmed to his tale now, and his dirty hands flew out in gestures. "I dunno why he scared me, it was just something about him-way he stood, kind of still, or something. just as we come by, he stepped out nearer an' started to say somethin'-he said something like, ‘Hey, kids'-only then I looked at him, and when I saw his face I was all of a sudden awful scared, and I just went on, kind of fast. But Roberto stopped. An' I-an' I went on faster, up toward the corner, and then I looked back and. Roberto was still talkin' to the guy-I thought I'd call him, tell him come on, but then I didn't. And, well, the light turned green an' I-just ran. But gee, it musta been him. The one did it. That Slasher, like they call him. Why do you suppose he wanted to kill Roberto, anyways?"
"We don't know," said Palliser. "Now, what did the man look like, Miguel?"
"Gee," said the boy regretfully, "I didn't have much of a look at him, mister. It was funny, what scared me about him, I mean he didn't try to hit me or have a gun or nothing. Kind of the way he stood. I dunno. It was almost dark, you know, and not anywheres near a street light. He-he was kind of tall and thin, I guess-I don't remember nothing about his clothes-except, well, they seemed kind of loose on him, like they didn't fit good. And he had this kind of red face, kind of nasty-lookin'-"