“But, wait a minute, Dad’s footlocker came in four weeks ago and Warren wrote me only on the twenty-sixth.”
“Ah,” the lieutenant said, “but when was your first burglary?”
“Oh,” and there was my theory blown up in my face. “About two days after it arrived. But I was in the hospital.
What if I had gone through it -“
“Did you?” asked the lieutenant quietly. “I couldn’t bear to.”
“Exactly. And I’m sure Warren counted on this. Shock alone would keep you from examining it very closely.”
“Wait a minute, you mean you knew something must be among my father’s things?”
DeLord shook his head. “Not exactly but your father’s footlocker, being a colonel’s and being his, would not be inspected closely, if at all. Remember, even the gun was at the bottom. The albums, the legitimate ones, were carefully on top of the illegal Bibles. It wasn’t until I realized that Warren, in addition to ‘keeping the looting down,’ also handled the effects of fatalities that I knew how he was getting things out. Then I had to find out how he recovered them.”
“Chrissake, and the colonel put him into Headquarters Company to keep him out of trouble.”
“Mmmm,” and DeLord hurried on. “After Julich I realized he added things to packs. This meant someone had to intercept on this side.”
“Marian Warren,” I exclaimed. “You know, I thought it was awful strange that she’d bother to call on those families in the Boston area. Do you mean she was picking up loot? How would she know? How did she do it?”
“Well, we started intercepting letters from him to his wife or anyone else he wrote.”
“You mean he told that harpy right out -”
“Oh, no, he was discreet enough. Just suggested she go visit so-and-so’s family. He had a code worked out, too, because we noticed he’d use several phrases over and over. ‘He was a fine soldier,’ ‘he died bravely,’ and ‘I shall miss his leadership qualities.’ When the provost marshal over here got with it and did some checking, they tracked down quite a pack smuggled through. The really valuable items, a few fine rings, a silver communion chalice dating from the fifteenth century, some very rare stamps, all came in in officers’ packs. They also connected several burglaries with the arrival of footlockers. Nothing had been disturbed in the house, nothing apparently was missing. But there had been burglaries just after shipments.”
” ‘Miss his leadership
’” I gasped in outrage. “But he said in his letter to me something about Dad’s ability to command. Ye gods.”
“Repeats himself, doesn’t he.” DeLord chuckled. “At any rate, we have it pretty well lined out now; opportunity, motive, modus operandi, but we haven’t caught him with the goods and we have to or our case won’t stand up.”
“And why not?” I demanded indignantly. “He murdered to protect his racket.”
DeLord shook his head patiently. “Circumstantial although we know now he had a motive for killing your father but, Miss Carla, until last night I didn’t know your father had been murdered.” He shot a significant look at Turtle.
Turtle’s face drained of blood and he spun away to the stove to pour himself a cup of coffee.
“All I was out to catch was a thief who was causing some bad feelings with our allies.” DeLord’s voice dropped to a quiet sad tone.
I sighed deeply, shook off my apathy.
“All right, why don’t you take the jeep when the major gets back and get that gun traced?”
DeLord nodded. “I’ve the slug that murdered your father, too,” and he touched his breast pocket briefly. “I’ll run a ballistics check on it as well. We’ll maybe have conclusive proof.”
“You mean I can’t help trap Warren?” I felt cheated.
Merlin growled at that point and we all turned to look at him. He continued growling, his head cocked towards the front of the house.
“Now what?” Turtle demanded wearily. “The Marines?”
“No,” I cried, jumping up with relief. “The vet the gob promised.”
I raced to the front door, vowing to think more kindly of the Coast Guard from now on. I pulled the door open and stopped. Two cars had pulled up. One of them was an army jeep, an officer and two burly MPs filing out. The other car was Beatty’s and there was a self-satisfied expression on his face as he plowed back up the swath he had cut through the snow that morning.
“What’s on your mind?” I snapped.
“You’ll find out soon enough, Miss Murdock,” and he made the formal title an insult. His voice, brash and loud, reached Turtle’s ears.
Before I realized what it was all about, Beatty had pushed me roughly back and waved in the two MPs who entered, revolvers drawn.
“There’s your man!” and he pointed straight at Turtle.
Turtle went into an instinctive crouch. I think he would have tried to make it out through the kitchen but, unwittingly, the lieutenant stepped into the doorway, blocking his retreat. Turtle straightened. The MP lieutenant came up to him.
“Name, rank, and serial number,” he asked formally.
Turtle rattled them off, defeat written in his posture.
“You’re to accompany me to Camp Edwards, Sergeant.”
“For the attempted murder of Lt. Col. Donald Warren,” sneered Beatty.
Someone screamed and it must have been me as I ducked around Beatty and flew to Turtle, my arms around him in a futile effort to protect him.
“You can’t, you can’t. He served my father for twenty-eight years!”
“Sorry, miss.”
“Here’s the AWOL list,” Beatty offered too helpfully. “Resisted arrest at Aachen and disappeared. Only they thought he was still in Europe. I never forget a face.”
“May I see it?” DeLord’s voice, steely and authoritative, cut across Beatty’s abusive triumph.
“You can’t arrest him. You can’t. You’ve got to prove it,” I screamed.
“Bit, knock it off,” said Turtle, disengaging my arms from his neck.
I looked up at him. I read the truth which I had before only happily suspected. He had shot Warren. But Warren had deserved to die. Warren had killed my father. It was too damned bad Turtle had missed.
“Thank you,” DeLord said, his face grim as he returned the incriminating sheet to the smug policeman. “If you’ve no objection,” and DeLord flashed his own identification, “I’d like to accompany Sergeant Bailey. I have evidence to present.” His hand brushed his breast pocket.
“As you wish, DeLord,” the MP said. “Get your things, Sergeant.”
I had to watch as they stood over my Turtle Edward Bailey while he shrugged into his outer clothes. I had to witness the gloating expression on Beatty’s face. Why did he have to show up at all, with his petty informer’s nature and goddamned good memory? I had no conscience about the moralities involved in Turtle playing executioner. I was only sorry Turtle had failed. My horror was that Turtle might have to pay too dearly for that rough disposition of justice.
It was intolerable to watch Beatty delighting in the scene. I stalked over to him stiffly.
“You get out of here, you hear me.”
He glanced down at me, as if surprised I dared approach him at all.
“I’m talking to you, Beatty. You have no warrant to enter this house and no business in it. Now get yourself out of here or I’ll call my dog on you for trespassing.”
“Your dog’s too sick to move,” he sneered, slowly, insultingly.
“I’m not,” DeLord said, moving me gently to one side, facing Beatty. His body was poised lightly on his toes and in his hands he held the bolstered forty-five Colt. Beatty would have no way of knowing it was unloaded but he would appreciate that DeLord was in a fighting mood. “Miss Carla asked you to leave and if you do not leave