He reached in to pick up one.
Leopold had spent the afternoon assigning men to run down the usual number of telephoned tips. They rarely amounted to anything, but on a big case the calls always came in and had to be checked by someone. When Connie found him still at his desk late in the day, she said, “You look tired. Want some coffee?”
“Sure. It might perk me up.”
“Is Fletcher back yet?”
He was about to reply when Fletcher walked in. From the slight smile on his face it was obvious he had something. “What is it?” Leopold asked.
Fletcher sat down and took a shotgun shell from his pocket. “This, Captain. I found a bunch of them in a rubbish barrel in Garraty’s basement. The powder’s been removed from them.”
“Oh?”
“And I just came from the lab. Powder of this type is almost certainly the kind used in that pipe bomb. It was removed from these shells and wadded into that pipe.”
Connie looked somber. “Then we’re back to Mrs. Garraty again.”
“Seems like it.”
“I can’t believe she could have done it”
“Look at the facts,” Leopold said. “I can’t believe it either, but look at the facts. We’re supposed to believe that some criminal like George Gonzo crept up to that house between eight and eight-thirty, when it was just barely dark, cut the window screen, and reached inside with that gift-wrapped bomb. Consider what knowledge was necessary for that. First, the bomber had to know about the surprise birthday party. With thirty guests and all the necessary preparations, that wouldn’t be too difficult, I suppose. But now consider the second bit of knowledge the bomber had to possess — he had to know, beyond doubt, that Millie Garraty would pile the birthday gifts on the bed, within reach of the window. If she had put them in the basement, or a closet, or the bathtub, or even under the bed, his entire scheme would have collapsed. She might have simply left them in the livingroom. In truth, there are a dozen places she might have put them — all just as likely as that bed by the window.”
Connie looked unhappy. “But the screen was slit from outside!”
“After she placed the bomb in the cigar box, Millie could have sneaked out of the house long enough to do it. Or, more likely, she cut it earlier in the day, before the guests arrived. You’ll remember it wasn’t at all noticeable.”
“She made the bomb in Pete’s basement workshop?”
Leopold nodded. “There are enough revolutionary manuals around these days on how to do it. A woman could follow directions as well as anyone, removing the powder from Pete’s shotgun shells and stuffing it into that pipe, then rigging a battery-operated detonator.”
Fletcher was staring at the floor. “Do you want me to pick her up, Captain?”
“I can see you two don’t agree with me.”
“I suppose we agree,” Connie said. “We just don’t like it.”
“Any arguments against it?”
“I got one,” Fletcher replied. “If she was planning to kill him, why would she tell him about the party?”
“Did she tell him about the party?”
Fletcher nodded. “He caught her ordering the cake. She says they never had secrets from each other anyway.”
“Well, you’ve answered your own question. She had to tell him.”
“I suppose so,” he admitted, still not happy about it.
“Bring her in, Fletcher, but don’t tell her why. I’ll just talk to her some more, and see how she reacts to these shotgun shells.”
Leopold had never been a close friend to Millie Garraty, and perhaps he lacked the personal involvement that Fletcher felt in the case. Still, he was trying to view it objectively, trying to weigh the accumulating evidence and arrive at the right conclusion. An outside bomber seemed highly unlikely, especially since Fletcher’s discovery in the basement. That meant Millie Garraty — or someone close enough to the family that they could use the basement workshop.
He wondered about Steve Garraty. He was still wondering when Fletcher returned with Millie.
She sat down opposite his desk and asked, “What is it you wanted with me, Captain? Have you found the person who killed Pete?”
“Perhaps. Tell me about your husband’s basement room, where he kept his tools and hunting rifles and things. Did he ever take people down there, or let people use it?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, never.”
“How about his brother Steve?”
“No, Steve hasn’t been down there in years.”
Leopold sighed as his last possibility evaporated. “Millie, I have to ask you this. I hope you’ll excuse me. Did you kill your husband?”
That was when Millie Garraty slid out of her chair and slumped to the floor in a faint.
Leopold called for Connie and in a few moments Millie Garraty had recovered enough to return to the chair. Now her face was chalk-white, and her hands were trembling. He saw Connie and Fletcher exchange nervous glances.
“Mrs. Garraty... Millie... I’m sorry, but you understand I’m just doing my job. When you spilled that cup of punch on the gifts, and had to rewrap the box of cigars...”
“Yes,” she said, so quietly that he could barely hear her. “Yes, I killed him.”
“That’s when you did it?”
“Yes. When I rewrapped the cigars.”
“Mrs. Garraty, I must warn you of your rights. I’d suggest you consider phoning a lawyer before you answer any more questions.”
“Yes,” she answered, her face expressionless.
“Do you want a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“Connie, show Mrs. Garraty to the private waiting room.” He meant the interrogation room, but he didn’t want to use that word.
When they were alone, Fletcher said simply, “I guess you were right, Captain.”
“Yeah.” Leopold somehow didn’t feel the old triumph that a confession usually brought. Perhaps it had been too easy.
“Should I phone the commissioner?” Fletcher asked.
“Wait a bit. There’s plenty of time for that.”
Fletcher was opening a package from the lab. “Here’s the remains of the cigar box. We’d better put it in the evidence file for the trial.”
Leopold glanced at the charred lid. “Havana Supremes. I wonder how they manage to get Cuban cigars into the country these days.”
“They didn’t, Captain. There were no cigars in the box — just the bomb.”
“Yes, but...” Leopold began, and then fell silent. “You searched the place, Fletcher,” he said after a moment. “Surely you found the cigars that were in here.”
“No cigars, Captain.”
“In the wastebaskets?”
“Nothing.”
Leopold grunted. “I suppose she put them down the disposal.” He looked at the box again. Fifty cigars. What in hell does one do with fifty cigars?
Then he knew. He knew what he should have known all along.
Connie Trent came back into the office. “Steve Garraty and his wife are outside, Captain. They heard that Fletcher had picked up Millie and they want to know why.”
“Bring them in, Connie. And bring in Millie Garraty too. I think it’s about over.”
They crowded into his office. It was getting dark now — later than he’d thought. He felt very tired.
“Sit down, please, Millie.” He was aware that he was using her first name again.
“What’s the meaning of all this?” Steve Garraty asked. “Why are you questioning Millie when you should be out tracking down George Gonzo?”
“I’ve talked to Gonzo. He’s clean.” Leopold touched his fingers together. “You see, an outsider wouldn’t have known where the gifts would be, even if they had known about the birthday party.”