She was staring at me with cool eyes. I could see Mrs. Owens mentioning Ed had said something about getting that place in California soon and Susan Owens going to work like a ferret. This fitted in with Wales hunting around the abandoned garage for dough... except that was ten years ago and this account was less than ten weeks old. I asked, “Where's the other bankbooks?”
“This is the only one,” Mrs. Owens said. “Except a joint account Ed and I have over on Third Avenue. We have $567 there.”
“Mr. Owens have a safe deposit vault, did you see any odd keys about?” I asked.
“Look, look, Pa rarely had one buck to rub against another. That I know. And I looked carefully, under everything. This is all I found,” Susan said.
“I know you did. Mrs. Owens, you told me your husband said he might be able to get a farm in California soon. Are you positive he didn't have any money hidden away, never spoke of any money?”
“He didn't. Why poor Ed could just about make ends meet since he retired and—”
“This might be the string to your husband's killing. I have to know the truth about this money,” I said, making my voice hard.
“Do we look like rich people?” the old lady asked, her eyes beginning to water.
“Looks don't mean a thing. Did Ed at any time in the last dozen years talk about striking big money?”
“No. Never!” The tears came.
“What you doing to Ma?” Susan barked. “I told—”
“Shut up!” I bent toward Mrs. Owens, said softly, “I'm not trying to be rough, but in light of other things I know about Wales, this can be a real lead. Tell me again that Ed Owens never had or ever mentioned any big money.”
“He never did. We were always counting each dollar. Ed never gambled unless he had an extra dollar.”
“Sorry I blew up. I believe you,” I said. And I did. While she was drying her face with her apron I stared at Susan, who gave it right back to me, eye-to-eye stuff. I asked, “What do you want me to do? Don't expect me to go on the hook, this is evidence and I won't—”
“How do we know if it's evidence or not?” Susan asked evenly. “It may have nothing to do with the case. The only fact we know for sure is we found four grand and a canceled bankbook in Pa's dresser.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” I asked.
“I thought you'd—” Mrs. Owens started.
“We're playing it straight with you, Mr. Wintino,” Susan cut in. “You were one of the detectives on the case—we're telling you about it. But Ma felt that since you're new and not boiled in oil like some of the old-timers, you'd understand what four grand means to a cop's widow scrimping along on a lousy pension.”
“Sure I understand. But I'm not going to hang myself. I have to turn this in.”
“Nobody is asking you not to; if you have to turn the money in, you have to. Suppose we hold on to it till tomorrow? I have a list of the bill numbers. You take the bankbook, see what you can find out. For all we know maybe one of Pa's nags finally came in. We're not leaving town—if we didn't want to play straight we could have kept mum about all this. If by tomorrow afternoon you feel this has something to do with the case, we'll hand it over. If you ask for it now, we'll get tough too, force you to get a court order. There, that gives you an out.”
I grinned at her with admiration—she was real smart, used her dome for more than growing hair. This could put me in the saddle, if it was the break in the case. It might be what I needed. Not only was I holding out the dope I learned this morning, but those Data clowns might be melting my badge by now. Of course if this turned out to be a wrongo, or if the Owenses were playing me for a sucker... Hell, they could only hang me once.
“What's it going to be?” Susan asked.
“I'll play along till tomorrow afternoon. But I want a list of the bills, the bankbook, and a sample of your father's writing, his signature if you have it handy. I'll have to call the precinct, tell them something. If my lieutenant is there, you're out of luck. If not, I called and covered myself—sort of. You'll have to take that gamble.”
“If you want it that way. I'll tell anybody about a court order.”
“They won't need a court order,” I said, looking around for the phone.
“Out there, on the hall table,” Susan said, pointing a skinny finger. “You tell them they'll sure need something good to get this four grand out of my hands. And don't forget the part about I'm not trying to obstruct justice but neither am I going to play potsy with our dough or—”
I told her to shut up again, and dialed the squad room. Landon answered, said Reed was gone for the day. I told him, “I'm over at Mrs. Owens' house. She's found something that might be a lead, a canceled savings bankbook that—”
“Will you never stop playing detective?” Landon asked, I tried not to sound relieved over the phone as I said, “Well, Reed knows I'm here. Tell him I'll check on it in the morning and be in touch with him. It may be important.”
“Everything is important to you except your own time. When will you learn this isn't our case anymore?”
“You know Mrs. Owens phoned me What am I supposed to do, tell her to ask the switchboard to connect her downtown? Just leave a message for Reed that I called and will be in touch tomorrow.”
“I'll do that, Mr. Holmes,” Landon said, hanging up.
Susan smiled. “What's the matter, the lads afraid they'll overwork themselves?”
“Busy on routine stuff. But I'm not busy, that's why I'm doing this. I'll work it my way. You know I won't be able to move till morning, when the bank opens I'll phone you as soon as I can. If the money is evidence, I don't want any tears or arguments about it.”
“I'm a cop's daughter, I wouldn't be so stupid as to beat the law. And if this will help in any way to find who did Pa in, I wouldn't hesitate a second to—”
“I know, you're a doll.”
Her eyes seemed to laugh at me as she said, “That's not nice talk, Buster. I might give you a box of cigars if things come out right.”
“Now you're talking out of turn. I don't smoke,” I said, as we stepped back into the living room. I pocketed the bankbook. “Get me something with Mr. Owens' signature, and the list of bill numbers. Also an envelope. Make it two envelopes.”
“Have the list in my room—some job copying them all down,” Susan said, dashing out of the living room.
I was about to say it must have been a labor of love but kept my trap shut and asked Mrs. Owens, “Do you remember much about the time Mr. Owens and Mr. Wales arrested Sal Kahn, sent him to the chair?”
“I remember they were promoted for it, made detective second grade. Ed and Al had their pictures in the papers. My, that was a long time ago.”
“Yeah. Did Mr. Owens ever mention that collar, say anything at all about it, during the last couple of years?”
She shook her fat head. “No. He rarely talked about police work. Always said a good cop left his work at the station.”
Susan came back like a nervous wind, handed me the list of serial numbers and dropped two large envelopes on the table. I picked a couple of fifties from the pile for a spot check as Susan said, “You have a real trusting nature.”
“Just careful.” The bills checked with the list. “Put the money in one of the envelopes and don't play with it. Speaking of money, Mrs. Owens, did the late Mrs. Wales ever mention money? Did she seem well fixed?”