“Why is that?”
“Kenneth didn’t like me, didn’t like anyone who wasn’t straight. He told Leonard once that he didn’t want anything to do with his faggot boyfriend, and Leonard didn’t stand up to him. It was as if, underneath, he… he was ashamed of me.” Washburn looked away, over at Eberhardt’s empty desk. He seemed very small, sitting there-and very alone. “Anyhow,” he said after a time, “that was why I wasn’t invited to the party the night Kenneth died.”
“Was Leonard invited?”
“Oh yes. And he went, even though he knew it hurt me.”
I was beginning to get a picture of what kind of man Leonard Purcell had been. And I didn’t particularly like what I saw. I watched Washburn finish what was left in his cup, put the cup down carefully on the edge of my desk. Watched him hunch a little inside his jacket. Damn Sam Crawford and his mandates about the heat.
I said, “More coffee, Mr. Washburn?”
“No, thank you. It’s a bit too strong for me.”
“I can add some water…”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
I got up and poured another half-cup for myself. When I sat down again I said, “About Kenneth. How did he feel about Leonard being gay?”
“I don’t really know. I suppose he ignored it, as if it were a temporary aberration on Leonard’s part. Leonard was married once, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“For five years. Ruth divorced him when she found out he had male lovers.” A faint smile. “I was one of them.”
“Do you know his ex-wife?”
“No, not really.”
“Was the divorce bitter or amicable?”
“Not as bitter as it might have been, I guess-Leonard didn’t talk about that much, either. She did let him have the house.” Pain moved through his expression again, like something dark and restive just beneath the surface of his features. “He really loved that house. So did I, until… well, now it’s as dead for me as he is.”
“How long had you been living there with him?”
“Two years, ever since Ruth moved out. It was a permanent relationship.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“We were going to be married one day,” he said.
I knew that gays sometimes had unofficial wedding ceremonies, without benefit of marriage licenses, presided over by ministers from the Unitarian church or some other liberal congregation. But I did not want to discuss that sort of thing with Washburn. It was a private matter, and painful for him now-and I was still old-fashioned enough to feel uncomfortable with some of the more open and iconoclastic attitudes of the homosexual community.
I said, “Let’s get back to the man on the telephone. Do you have any idea who he might be?”
“No, none.”
“Was he young, old?”
“Young-twenties or thirties, I’d say.”
“Black, white, Oriental?”
“I’m not sure. Latin, perhaps.”
“Did he have an accent?”
“A faint one. I couldn’t quite place it.”
“Anything else distinctive about his voice?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“Did he sound educated?”
“Well, he used proper English. But he didn’t seem very well-spoken.”
“Any other impression of him?”
“I’m afraid that’s all.”
“If what he said to you is true he must either have been at Kenneth’s house that night and witnessed what happened, or he’s close to someone who was there and witnessed it.”
Washburn worried his lower lip for a time. Then he said, “He didn’t strike me as the type Kenneth would invite to one of his fancy parties. His friends were mostly rich people.”
“An acquaintance of one of the guests, then?”
“Kenneth’s daughter,” Washburn said musingly. “She’s the wild type.”
“Wild in what way?”
“Oh, you know, drugs. The whole scene.”
“Where does she live, do you know?”
“With some fellow on Mission Creek. She has a houseboat there. At least she did a few months ago.”
“‘What’s the fellow’s name?”
“I don’t remember Leonard mentioning it.”
“What’s her name? Purcell?”
“Yes. Melanie Purcell. Kenneth’s daughter by his first marriage.”
“Would you know if she was at the party that night?”
“I’m not sure. I think she might have been.”
“What can you tell me about the other guests?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. Alicia is the person to ask.”
“Kenneth’s widow?”
“Yes. She’s his second wife.”
“What happened to the first one?”
“They were divorced.”
“Where would I find Alicia?”
“Well, I think she’s still living at the house.”
“In Moss Beach, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“Did Leonard handle his brother’s legal affairs?”
“No. He didn’t feel it was proper.”
“Who did?”
“An attorney here in the city. I don’t remember his name.”
“I can get it from the police. Did Kenneth leave a will?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Who inherited the bulk of his estate?”
“Alicia, Melanie, and Leonard.”
“How much was the estate worth?”
“I don’t know exactly. Quite a lot.”
“What was Leonard’s share?”
“I don’t know that either,” Washburn said. “Talking about it was so painful for him; I tried not to pry.”
“Do you know if the will has cleared probate yet? If the inheritance has been paid?”
“I’m sure it hasn’t. I’d know if it had been.”
“Let’s assume Kenneth was pushed off that cliff,” I said. “Who do you think did the pushing?”
He spread his hands. “I just have no idea. Someone he was involved with on one of his real estate deals, possibly.”
“Quasi-legitimate, some of those deals, according to the papers.”
“Yes. So I understand.”
“In what way?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“Did Leonard know?”
“I suppose he did.”
“But he wouldn’t discuss it?”
“No. He didn’t approve, I can tell you that.”
“Did Leonard happen to say anything about his brother’s missing snuff box?”
“No, nothing.”
“Kenneth collected snuff boxes, didn’t he?”
“Snuff bottles, too,” Washburn said. “And humidors, cigarette boxes-anything rare and valuable connected with tobacco.”
I made a note on the pad in front of me; I had been making notes right along. While I was doing that Eberhardt burst in. He doesn’t just walk into a room, like most people; he barrels in as if he’s one of the vanguards in a raiding party. Washburn, looking startled, swung around on his chair. I got up, saying, “Just my partner,” and introduced them.
Eberhardt wanted to know if he was intruding; I said no, Washburn’s and my business was about finished. He nodded, muttered something about it being like an icebox in here, poured himself some coffee, and went to his desk and picked up his phone.
I said to Washburn, “So your theory is both Kenneth and Leonard were killed by the same person-Leonard so he wouldn’t expose the truth about his brother’s death.”
Washburn nodded. He seemed a little ill at ease now that someone else was in the room.
“But why didn’t Leonard expose the truth? Why contact the murderer instead of the police? Why let him or her know that the crime against Kenneth had been found out?”
“Leonard might have been trying to make him admit something incriminating, just so he could be sure. He had to’ve known the person; he must not have believed his own life was in danger.”
Plausible answers-up to a point. But it still didn’t quite add up for me. I said as much to Washburn. I also pointed out to him that Leonard’s murderer didn’t have to be the same person who had pushed Kenneth to his death- if Kenneth had been pushed. It could just as easily have been the man on the telephone.
“But what motive would he have? Leonard must have paid him the two thousand dollars; the police didn’t find it in his office and it certainly isn’t in the house.”