“I wonder,” he said, “if you would just tell me just what happened.”
“There isn’t much to tell, really. I’ve been away this afternoon. I went swimming at the Country Club with Mr. Bauer’s nephew. I believe you met him downstairs. When we left here, Loren was sitting on the terrace in the sun. He was going to wheel himself inside when he’d had enough. Stuart and I didn’t return until rather late, and I found Loren still on the terrace. You know how he was when I found him.”
“Yes. Dead. Strangled. Tell me, Mrs. Bauer, did you see the weapon?”
“The weapon?”
“Yes. Whatever was used to strangle him. From the appearance of his throat it must have been a very stout cord or a steel wire. Something like that.”
“I didn’t see it whatever it was. The murderer must have taken it away with him. Wouldn’t he naturally do that?”
“He might. He might not. In this case, he did. Or he didn’t. What I mean is, the weapon was taken away — but not at the time of the murder. It remained in place around the victim’s throat all the time he was on the terrace. Until you came home, Mrs. Bauer?”
“What’s that? What did you say?” Lieutenant Peavy twisted his hands together, giving the impression of wringing them in an agony of embarrassment.
“I see that you got the beginning of a tan on your face and throat this afternoon, Mrs. Bauer. So did your husband. Except on the narrow line around his throat that the sun didn’t touch. Can you explain that?”
She couldn’t, of course. She couldn’t even try. She wondered desperately if she could somehow put the blame on Stuart, but it didn’t seem likely. Most of all, she wondered how she could have failed to think of such a simple thing while being so clever about everything else. Now they would certainly search her room and look into her beach bag — and there was not a thing she could do to prevent it.
What was Peavy saying?
“I’ve been trying to figure out how you did it, Mrs. Bauer,” he was saying, “and I think I’ve got it.” His expression was almost ludicrously apologetic. “You see, I watch the late movies on television too.”
How? When? Who?
Originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, September 1964.
In the first place, this Dr. Wade Loos went to see Detective-Lieutenant Jesse Risen. In the second place, Detective-Lieutenant Jesse Risen came to see me. In the third place, naturally, we caught the poisoner. My name, by the way, is Roscoe Fay.
It was a cold overcast afternoon in November, shortly before Thanksgiving, and I had a small fire on the hearth for cheer, supported by central heating for comfort. Lieutenant Risen came into my study, tossing his deplorable hat and topcoat into a chair by the door, and dropped heavily into another chair which, anticipating him, I had pulled up before the fire. It was apparent that he was in an ugly frame of mind, resulting from a severe case of frustration, and I offered him some bourbon and water as an alleviative, which he accepted.
I had, of course, anticipated his mood as well as his person. Risen sneers at me as an amateur criminologist in fair weather, but every time the weather turns foul, figuratively speaking, he comes running to consult me. He comes, in brief, to pick my brains. I may as well, I think, be candid about it.
“Now,” I said, when he had swallowed some of his bourbon and water, “what’s the problem this time?”
He scowled at his glass. “Who says there’s a problem?”
“Oh, come off it, Risen. Let’s not delay the accomplishment of your mission. The only time you come to see me is when you do have a problem. You have one now, and I confess that I’m eager to hear about it.”
“All right, all right. So I have a problem. Do you happen to know a Dr. Wade Loos?”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Well, I know him, and it’s no pleasure. The damned man has made a perfect nuisance of himself.”
“Is that so? In what way?”
“He’s the attending physician of a family named Coker, and he’s convinced that someone is slowly poisoning old Rufus Coker, the head of the family.”
“I must say I’m intrigued. I’ve heard of old Rufus, of course. An extremely wealthy man. He must be seventy now, at least. What evidence does Dr. Loos have that the old man is being poisoned?”
“That’s the hell of it. He doesn’t have any genuine evidence at all. Old Rufus, he says, is basically sound physically, not a thing wrong with him, and yet he is chronically ill and keeps failing with every day that passes. He’s slowly dying, no question about it, and the doctor is thoroughly convinced, after making every effort to find a natural cause, that he’s being poisoned.”
“By someone in the house?”
“Yes. Certainly. No one else would have the opportunity.”
“Except, perhaps, Dr. Loos.”
“I’ve thought of that, but it won’t wash. No one else in the family has expressed any suspicions. If the doctor were poisoning the old man, why would he deliberately call the attention of the police to it?”
“You’re perfectly right, Risen. I was just testing to see if you had made that simple and essential elimination.”
“Oh, I’m not so dull as you seem to think. I can at least see the obvious.”
“Can you? Well, go on with your story, and we’ll see if you can really see.”
“Thank you. To get on with it, then, Dr. Loos suggested that the old man leave the house — get away from the family long enough, at least, to see if his condition improves. But the old man was merely enraged. He considers it absolutely incredible that any member of his family would wish to kill him. He even refused to submit to any tests that might reveal poison, and he berated the doctor for trying to disguise his own incompetence in failing to diagnose a natural ailment of some kind.”
“Perhaps you had better identify the members of the household.”
“Right. I’m coming to it. There are, to begin with, the daughter of old Rufus, and her husband. Caroline, her name is. She is, I’d guess, between thirty-five and forty. The husband is a bit younger — between thirty and thirty-five. His name is Warren Townsend, and he’s a doctor too.”
“Shades of Swope!”
“Swope? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Surely you’ve heard of the famous Swope case? It happened out in Kansas City soon after the turn of the century. In Independence, to be exact. Old Colonel Swope was a tremendously wealthy man. He lived in a Victorian mansion with several members of his family, including a daughter with a husband who was a doctor. An epidemic of slow poisoning began to kill off the family one by one, the Colonel included. There is a public park in Kansas City today that bears his name. He donated the land, as I recall. It offers, among other things, quite a nice little zoo and one of those open air theaters in which musical comedies are presented during the summer season.”
“That’s very interesting, I’m sure, but who the devil was the poisoner?”
“Didn’t I mention that? It was the son-in-law. The doctor. He was also the family physician. I wonder why Dr. Townsend isn’t?”
“I don’t believe it’s considered good practice nowadays for a doctor to attend the members of his own family. Nevertheless, if there is any poisoning going on, he is certainly in the best position to do it. I’m keeping him in mind.”
“Good. In the meanwhile, please tell me about the others.”
“There is a sister. About sixty. A spinster. There is a grandson, the only child of another daughter, who is dead. Name of Jack Riley. A worthless fellow, I gather, but not without charm. There is, finally, a grandniece who is called Fanny. Last name Burnett. A lovely girl, always cheerful and vivacious. She’s the only one, according to the doctor and Mrs. Weed, who ever shows any real affection for the old man.”