The Caper of the Duplicitous Dame V

The final solution

It must have been a couple of hours before Sal’s face appeared at the viewing window, and the door swung open. He had a covered cardboard box with him.

“The lady’s sticking to her story, Gino,” Sal said as he put the box on the table. He sat in the chair across from me.

“It’s Rex, Sal. Rex.”

Sal smiled. “It’ll be Mudd, Kid, unless you help me out here.”

I spread my hands. “I told you everything. I hate to say this, but I better get a lawyer.”

“Geez, I don’t know. Maybe I should get Schulz down here with the rubber hose.”

“Stop kidding around, Sal. This is serious.”

“Boy, if only we were smart enough to figure out the locked door thing with the key still in the inside lock. That might make a difference.”

I looked at Sal. He was smiling. “Come on, Sherlock,” he said. “How about offering a brilliant deduction here for this dumb flatfoot?”

I sprang to my feet. “Wait a minute. You didn’t give me my Miranda rights. You haven’t arrested me. I’m sitting here like a dope. If you had all that evidence, you’d have me chained to this table, friend or not.”

“Oh, we have the evidence, all right. And we have Honey Croton’s statement. There’s just one little problem. You’re not guilty.”

“Of course, I’m not.” I sat back down. “I know I’m not guilty.” 

Sal opened the cardboard box to reveal my suit and pants. My black loafers were on top, along with my fedora, which was crushed. I reshaped it and stuck it on my head. Then I found an envelope with my wallet, keys, and an opened pack of cigarettes, also crushed.

I pulled my clothes out of the box. Sal went out while I dressed right there in the interrogation room. He came back with two cups of fresh coffee. This time, it was the good stuff.

“So, what cleared me, Sal? I need to know.”

“Police work. No sudden intuitive bursts of brilliance. Just plain forensic science and common sense,” Sal said. He took a sip of his coffee. 

“Let me explain what a real cop does with a few pieces of evidence you probably call ‘clues.’  First of all, the time of death was all wrong. She must have killed him hours earlier and put some hairs in the blood in his hand.”

I thought of Honey sitting in my hot office, playing with my hat—even the sweatband.

“But, you see, the blood was dry when we arrived, supposedly within minutes of his being killed, if we believed her story of hearing a crash. It takes at least thirty minutes to an hour for a small pool of blood to dry.  In this business, Gino, you gotta notice the little things.”

Sal pulled a notebook from an inside pocket. “The science boys are working out the exact time given the temperature and humidity in the den, but they feel pretty sure that volume of blood would take at least an hour.” Sal referred to his notebook. “Staged, Gino. She read all this crap about DNA but didn’t know that interpreting the whole scene is what puts the bad guys behind bars.

“Also, the coroner says the blood pattern is all wrong. The killer wouldn’t have gotten much blood on themself with the first blow when Croton was probably standing, but the second blow would have been a fountain. Head wounds are always bloody.

“There was a clear area where the killer stood when they coshed him the second time when he must have been on his knees.” Sal grinned at me. “You looked pretty clean to me, but you never know.”

“And Honey had just come from the shower when you showed up?”

Sal nodded. He wrote something in his notebook and then sipped the hot coffee. “Yep,” he said. “That’s what she claimed.”

I thought for a moment. “What did she do with her bloody clothes?”

“We think she was naked. She ran into the den, beat the hell out of Croton, planted the evidence, and took a shower. We got the science gang removing the drains from the bathrooms right now. The presumptive tests show blood. I feel sure the DNA will be a match with Croton.”

“How did she get Croton to the den? Why would he go there?”

“Charm, maybe. We may never know what she told him to bring him to that room. What kind of story did she cook up so the entire household staff was gone for the night? We’ll find out some things when we talk to the people who worked there.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Coroner says rigor had set into the jaw, neck, and fingers but just started at the wrists and elbows. He figures Croton was dead about three hours before we broke down the door.”

“That means he was killed while I was in the pool house,” I said.

“That would be my guess. Don’t beat yourself up, Kid,” Sal said. “Heavy drapes, only a grunt, maybe.”

“So, it’s pretty well wrapped up, Sal?”

“Well, everything except that locked door to the den. The key was on the inside, so even if she had a duplicate, she couldn’t lock it after she left the room. That’s a stumbling block,” Sal said. “Maybe a smart Shamus like you can help us out here.”

I jumped at the chance. “I think I know how she did it. She locked the door, kept the key, and waited until you kicked the door down. While we were looking at the body, she slipped the key into the inside lock. I’ve read that in a hundred locked-room mysteries.”

“Well, that could explain it then,” Sal said, grinning. “You’ll make a great Sherlock yet.”

I nodded. His grin told me volumes. “You had already figured it out, Sal. You were just screwing with me.”

“No, no, Gino…I mean Rex. Honest,” he laughed. “Brilliant, Rex Granite, brilliant.”

I stuck an unlit crushed cigarette into my mouth and pushed my fedora further back on my head.

“Elementary, my dear Sal,” I said. “Elementary

Epilogue:

Right after Mrs. Croton’s trial, I thought getting out of town for a while was best. Steve warned me that a couple of no-necks were looking for me, mob friends of Croton. They figured I had set the widow up and did the hit myself. Imagine that.

Full disclosure: Honey Croton was never in my office. When I tripped that she would try to make me take the full rap, I began making entries on my laptop to build a story the cops would buy.

Didn’t Shakespeare say, “The play’s the thing?” Well, in my case, “The story’s the thing.”

When Honey and I were planning to off her husband, I knew she’d try to get me to take the fall, so I adjusted our scheme. I thought my head hairs in the blood were a nice touch, especially with my story in the laptop of the widow playing with my fedora.

Double-crossing the double-crosser.

Why would I want to knock off old man Croton? For a hundred grand.

He had gotten a little ambitious, beginning to move into the realm of international gun-running, which is currently controlled by the Rico brothers, headquartered in Guatemala. They put out a contract, and Honey’s ardor for J. Winslow had chilled as her greed heated up. So, I agreed to help a close, personal friend in her hour of need.

But I knew she was a duplicitous dame, and I set her up like a pro.

The feds wondered why a hundred grand was suddenly deposited into a foreign bank account for Rex Granite from a shell company owned by the Rico boys.

Then, when Steve found that old photo of Honey and me on a beach in Rio during my college days, I knew it was time to split.

 I really like the climate in Venezuela at this time of year, so I think I might stay for a while. Coincidentally, this country has no extradition treaties with the USA.

That’s a win-win in my book.