Outside the day was lovely. Somewhere in the neighborhood someone was hammering; it was the sound of life going on, of something being accomplished.… She finished the salad and put it on the table.
Ten minutes later she had the lunch ready. She went back to the lobby, but the policeman was not there. She pushed the front door open and saw him; he was standing on the fence railing replacing the sign that had been knocked down. He drove a final nail with the hammer in his hand, jumped down, and put the tool in the trunk of his car.
Ellen walked over to meet him. “That was very nice of you. You saved me a job, and I’m not very good at that sort of thing.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Tibbs said. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I wash?”
“Yes, of course, and then come in for lunch. It’s not very much, but we can talk, if you like.”
Tibbs followed her in, used the washroom she pointed out, and then joined her in the small dining room. He accepted his lunch without comment and waited until he sensed that she was ready to talk to him.
“If you feel up to it now,” he began, “I’d like to ask you some questions about your uncle. Suppose we start with his name.”
She nodded. “His name is-was Albert Roussel, Dr. Albert Roussel,” she added with emphasis.
“He was a physician?”
“No, a chemist. Uncle Albert majored in chemistry at college and was good at it, good enough to earn a scholarship and to go on to his master’s. After that he joined a company that encouraged advanced study, and four years later he got his Ph.D.”
She thought for a few moments. “He stayed with that company for several years while he did some work on his own at home. His hobby was photography and he worked on the chemistry of films and things like that. After a while he hit on something-” She stopped and shook her head. “I’m getting ahead of the story.”
She paused and poured Tibbs a cup of tea. “When my uncle was in college,” Ellen went on, “he met a well-known girl, Joyce Bachelor. From what I’ve been told, I don’t think she was a very admirable girl. I gathered that Joyce was for Joyce, and that was all that mattered to her.”
She paused, but Tibbs said nothing.
“At the time, Uncle Albert was nevertheless very attracted to her. They went together for some time, during school and afterward. But I gather she felt that the man she married would either have to have or to make a lot of money. I think she liked Uncle Albert-she went with him enough-but she just couldn’t see him as a future millionaire, and so that was that.”
Telling the story seemed to be relieving her mind. She kept her voice even and almost impersonal.
“Well, she got her way. She did meet a man-an older man-who had the money she wanted, and she married him. At the end of several years he dropped dead on the tennis court one day, and Joyce was left with practically everything. Meanwhile, as I told you, Uncle Albert hit on something-a photographic process of some kind having to do with color. He sold the process on a royalty basis, made a little name for himself, and the money started to flow in.”
“And so did Joyce,” Tibbs suggested.
“Yes, but not in the way you might think. I’d rather like to think that Uncle Albert told her he wasn’t interested any more. By this time he was living in France. Our family on mother’s side is of French descent and he spoke the language well. He had a villa there that he liked very much and he said the rural atmosphere of the place helped him in his work.
“I know he was very popular over there; he was such a fine man that he had a host of friends, so Joyce just wasn’t in the running any more. At least that’s the way I think it was.” She paused and took a deep breath. When she went on, her voice had changed in tone. “Anyhow, Joyce had a lot of money now and ideas about making more. So she had an inspiration-to form a holding company to handle Uncle Albert’s patents. Maybe she felt he would come up with more if he had additional capital to work with, and she knew where it could be found. So they made a deal.”
Ellen stopped as though she had run down; she was on the thin edge of her control.
Tibbs ate very quietly and did nothing to distract her.
Finally she went on, “Three or four people came into the thing and it prospered-on the ideas that Uncle Albert developed, of course. Then he more or less quit. He spent practically all his time in France and only came over here once a year to visit us and to attend a board meeting of the company. Since he was the person who made everything possible, his opinions and ideas were pretty well respected.”
“I should think so,” Tibbs agreed.
Ellen swallowed hard and then drank some tea. “This year the board meeting seems to be especially important. I don’t know the details, but apparently one of the big companies has made an offer to buy out everything. There are only four or five people in the company-Uncle Albert’s company, that is-and they have to decide.”
“Most of them live locally?” Tibbs asked.
She nodded. “That’s right-Joyce and the others. Again, I don’t know, but I have the idea that some of them want to sell and others don’t. Uncle Albert wrote us that he wanted to be certain he was present this time, though of course he always is anyway.”
“How did your uncle feel about the sale?”
Ellen shook her head. “I don’t know that. He just wrote that he was definitely coming, that’s all.”
“He could well have been in a position to hold the balance of power,” Tibbs guessed aloud. “In that case, some very strong emotions might have been aroused.”
“You mean one of them might have done it?” Ellen asked.
“It’s something to look into,” Tibbs said.
He drove back to Pasadena with many things on his mind. When he walked into his office, Bob Nakamura was waiting for him. “You’ve been sold into slavery.” he said.
Tibbs sat down behind his desk. “Do I have to address a Boy Scout conclave?”
Bob shook his head. “San Bernardino is delighted that you have identified the body. They were very impressed. Also they added something about what a happy circumstance it was that you were there just when they were shorthanded.”
Tibbs looked for a longing moment at the top of his desk. “I have other things to do,” he said with a sigh.
“They know, and so does Captain Lindholm. However, officially you are to continue on the case until it is closed. A successful outcome is expected.”
Tibbs shook his head. “Why did my mother raise her boy to be a policeman? Why couldn’t I just play second base for some nice minor-league team?”
“Because you’re not a good enough hitter, I suspect.” Bob paused and looked at him sidewise. “Are you enjoying your visits to the nudist camp?”
Tibbs laughed. “It’s different, I’ll grant you that. Helps to break the monotony. Nice people, though.”
“Any pretty girls?”
Tibbs returned the knowing glance. “Wait till you get a load of Linda. Also you might try sitting across from people who are comfortably undressed-completely, that is-and who ask you how you like police work.”
“I think I might just enjoy that,” Bob mused. “When I married Amiko, I accepted certain restrictions, of course, but I wasn’t struck blind.”
“I’ll get you an application,” Tibbs offered generously. “They already have several Nisei members-they told me.”
“I don’t think Amiko would go for it. Though personally I wouldn’t mind,” Bob said. “Some of my best friends are Caucasians.”
Calmly Virgil picked up his phone and dialed both area code and number from memory. After the normal amount of clicking and three audible rings, Linda’s voice came on the line.
“Good afternoon, Linda,” Tibbs said, carefully underlining her name. “This is Virgil.”
Without hesitation Bob Nakamura picked up his phone and pushed the button that would put him on the line.
“Why, hello, Virgil!” he heard her say. “Are you coming in?”
“Not today, but I called to let you and your family know that we have identified the body found in your pool.”