He let her talk, though he knew her history in every detail. She had been fifteen when both her parents died, leaving her with a five-year-old sister to look after. For twenty-five years she had done her job thoroughly and unselfishly. As Janet began to succeed in business Cora began to go downhill. Her memory often failed her and she became almost scatterbrained in dealing with situations and people. She was throwing off the weight of a responsibility that had been too heavy for her. Now, though the weight was gone, the mind remembered, guiltily, the feel and contours of it.
“The responsibility is still there,” Cora said. “It will be there until I die... Oh, Lord, I’m getting heavy, aren’t I? I don’t like heavy people.”
She rose, pulling herself up by clinging to the arms of the chair.
Goodrich noticed. “Better drop in on Dr. Laverne for a checkup tomorrow, Cora.”
“I don’t need a checkup. I feel fine.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“All this silly fussing,” Cora said. “It would hardly be a tragedy for an old woman of sixty to die.”
“Don’t cheat, Cora. Sixty-six.”
She turned away, laughing. “All the less of a tragedy.” Cora Green died two days later.
During the week the Morrow family visited Lucille, a small boy called Maguire found a parcel washed up on the beach and took it home to his mother. And on the same day an inquest was held on the body of Eddy Greeley.
Chapter 7
Both in life and in death Mr. Greeley was a public nuisance. Alive, he had cost the province his board and room for several years, and by dying in an alley he was responsible for the cost of an inquest and the loss of the valuable time of the coroner, the jury and the police surgeon.
Edwin Edward Greeley, the police surgeon stated, was a morphine addict of long standing. The body was in an emaciated condition and both thighs had hundreds of hypodermic scars and several infected punctures. Examination of Mr. Greeley’s trousers (not on exhibit) showed that he was in the habit of injecting the morphine through his clothing with a home-made syringe (exhibited to the jury who eyed it with interest and disgust).
An autopsy proved the cause of death to be morphine poisoning.
The coroner went over the evidence,” implying strongly that he himself had no doubt that Greeley had miscalculated and given himself an overdose (and no loss to the world, his tone made clear); however, if the jury wanted to make fools of themselves they were perfectly welcome to do so and bring in a verdict of homicide or suicide.
The jury was out twenty minutes. Miss Alicia Schaefer summed up the opinions of the other jurors when she stated that anybody who would use a syringe like that instead of going out and buying a proper one, and using it through his clothes, imagine! instead of having it properly sterilized, well, anybody like that could make any kind of mistake.
Miss Schaefer’s compelling logic carried the day, and it became part of the court records that Edwin Edward Greeley had died by misadventure.
The bartender at the Allen Hotel read the news in the Evening Telegram. He called Inspector Sands’ office and left a message for him.
Shortly after seven o’clock on Thursday night Sands came in and sat in the back booth and ordered a beer.
“You wanted to see me?” he said to Bill.
“Yeah,” Bill said. “I see by the papers that Greeley got his.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Not so’s you’d notice. He was in here couple nights ago. Must have been the night he conked. Tuesday.”
“Well?”
“He had a tart from down the street with him. He ordered champagne and paid for it with a fifty.”
Sands didn’t look impressed, and Bill added anxiously, “I guess maybe that don’t sound like much, but I had a kind of idea he was onto something big. He shot off at the mouth about how from now on he’s got a steady income. I figured you’d like to know.”
“Thanks.”
“Jesus, he’s got a steady income now, all right. Laying gold bricks.”
“Who was the hooker?”
“Susie. She’s from Phyllis’s house down the street, a big redhead. Nice girl. I figure there’s nothing against her. Maybe she gets a case now and then but she ain’t mean.”
“Does she come in here often?”
“Now and then.”
“I’d like to talk to her. How would you like to dig her up for me?”
“Aw, now, Mr. Sands,” Bill said. “What the hell. I got a wife and family. I don’t whore, you know that. If my wife’d hear about it...”
“Use a phone.”
“Sure. I never thought of that. Why, sure, Mr. Sands.” He got up. “It’ll probably cost you some money. I figure I’ll say it’s a business appointment.”
“Good idea.”
“You got five bucks to waste?”
“Yes.”
Bill went into the office. After assuring the manager of the house that he meant business, five bucks’ worth, he was allowed to speak to Susie.
“Susie? This is Bill, up at the Allen.”
“Well, what do you want? Or is that too personal?”
“There’s a guy here. Five bucks.”
“I don’t want to come out on a stinking night like this for five bucks.”
“You see in the papers about Greeley? He got his wings. And I don’t mean the kind that lets you fly a plane.”
“Well, well,” Susie said thoughtfully and hung up. Fifteen minutes later she was at the Allen. She had dressed in a hurry and hadn’t combed her hair and her lipstick was blurred around her mouth.
Bill took her to the back booth and introduced her to Sands. She looked Sands up and down very slowly. “Who are you kidding?” she said.
“Jesus, you can’t talk to Mr. Sands like that,” Bill said. “Why, Mr. Sands...”
“Sit down, Susie,” Sands said. “You’re right, I’m harmless.”
“I didn’t mean that,” Susie said. “Holy God, I wouldn’t say a thing like that to any guy. I meant, you’re not the type.”
“How do you know?” Bill said, scowling. “Mr. Sands has a hell of a lot of muscle under those clothes, ain’t you, Mr. Sands?”
“Blow,” Sands said, without looking at him.
“Sure,” Bill said. “Sure. I’m on my way.”
When he had gone Susie sat down. “What’s the gag?”
“Questions. About Greeley.”
“I get it. Policeman?”
“Yes.”
Surprisingly, she leaned back and smiled. “That’s a relief. I’m kind of tired tonight. And I got nothing on my conscience you don’t know about.”
“Known Greeley long?”
“Not so long. Two months maybe, just in the line of business. He was a cheapskate. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he came in Tuesday night and paid ten bucks for the whole night and didn’t even stay. We came here and stayed for a couple of hours and guess what we drank.”
“Champagne,” Sands said.
“Yeah, can you beat it? Poor Eddy, it must have been too much for his system. Bill told me he died.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know him?”
“Not personally.”
“He was a hophead. He gave himself a dose after we left the pier.”
“What time?”
“Twelve, or so.”
“And then?”
“Then he sent me home in a taxi,” Susie said dryly. “Believe it or not. He said he had to meet someone. He’d been talking big stuff all night. It made me laugh. The only thing Eddy was good for was rolling drunks, like he must have done to get that fifty.”
Sands gave her five dollars. She took it with a wry smile.
“Easy money. Wish to hell I could always get paid for talking. You couldn’t see me for mink.”