The Cool Cottontail (22 page)

“Heaven help us sinners.” The artist uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. “Couldn’t the chauffeur have heard an earlier broadcast? I mean, aren’t you cutting the time a little fine here?”

Tibbs shook his head. “Actually the news broke for the first time publicly while I was at lunch. But there is another consideration entirely that drew my serious attention to him: if he had just found out, he wouldn’t have put the information so casually. There is a way we speak of things we have just learned and a very different one when we refer to things that are no longer new. He spoke in the manner of someone
who has known a certain fact for some while. That was what impressed me at the time.”

“In other words, he didn’t tell it as fresh news,” Forrest suggested.

“Exactly. In this business you have to look for things like that. Essentially there are two steps in resolving any case. First you have to find out what happened; then, after that, you have to assemble enough proof to secure a conviction in court. It isn’t always the same thing. I couldn’t expect to convince a jury by describing Brown’s manner of speech, but for finding out what happened it was very useful.”

Emily shook her head. “I don’t think I would want your job, Virgil,” she said.

“‘A policeman’s lot is not a happy one,’” Tibbs quoted. “Now let me fit some pieces together for you. Of the four surviving stockholders in the Roussel Rights Company, two were well established financially and the other two were in desperate, or near-desperate, circumstances. Walter McCormack was clearly secure, but I checked his rating just the same. I also checked up on your statement, Bill, concerning the number of pictures you sold and the price they netted to you.”

“I don’t think I want to know you any more,” Holt-Rymers said. “You’re too dangerous to have around.”

Tibbs smiled a little grimly. “Not if you’re telling the truth,” he said. “And you were. In a murder case you can’t afford to take anything for granted. Which brings us to Mr. Peterson, the broker. Unfortunately for him, he was in a jam all the way around. He had lost most of his clients through giving them bad advice and his business was in serious trouble.
In addition, he’d had an affair with his secretary, and when she told him that she was pregnant, he panicked. He gave her a partial settlement out of what he had left and then hurried off to Europe to see Dr. Roussel.”

“Why
do
people get so mixed up?” Emily asked.

“They do, all the time,” Virgil said. “At least they keep policemen from being unemployed.”

“He went to Europe, then, to try and dispose of his stock?” Ellen asked.

“More or less. According to the terms of the agreement among the partners, none of them could sell without common consent. However, Peterson hoped that Dr. Roussel, being a bachelor and living in Europe, might be sympathetic about his situation. He knew he would have no chance with Walter McCormack, but he thought that Dr. Roussel might be willing to advance him a substantial sum against the sale of the company—something he strongly advised.”

“And badly,” Holt-Rymers added.

“Is he married?” Linda asked.

“Yes, but his wife is suing him for divorce.”

“Then there was only one thing for him to do: let his wife divorce him in Reno and marry the girl he got into trouble,” she said.

Tibbs looked at her and shook his head. “Marrying under those circumstances seldom solves anything, particularly if you consider marriage as something more than a legal convenience. Anyway he couldn’t. She was already married—to a serviceman overseas.”

“Good night!” Forrest said.

“Agreed,” Virgil went on. “And when you add all of these things together, you can see why Peterson might have been
in a frame of mind to attempt murder. He had motive and he is a big, powerful man, which made him a definite possibility. However, from the strictly legal standpoint all he had done that was unlawful was to have an affair with a consenting adult. He had plenty to worry about, but from a police point of view he wasn’t in very deep. Also if the company had been sold, most of his difficulties would have been solved for him.”

“How about the girl?” Linda asked.

“She went down to Mexico for a vacation. While there, she had a slight accident and lost her child. Enough about Oswald Peterson. Now, on to Mrs. Pratt.”

“No, thank you,” Holt-Rymers muttered.

“Quiet,” Linda retorted.

Virgil sipped his iced tea.

“Mrs. Pratt is a woman of insane vanity; her whole history proves it. Originally she turned down Dr. Roussel because at that time he couldn’t provide her with enough money. Then she married an older man who could. She was diminutive and ‘cute,’ so that to certain men she was very appealing; she cashed that asset like a traveler’s check. When she was widowed, she was left in very comfortable circumstances-enough to keep her well for the rest of her life. But that wasn’t enough for her, so she planned to remarry—and again to the highest bidder. To accomplish this she bought herself a very expensive and costly-to-maintain home and worked her way into society. If she could find herself a new husband in ample circumstances, fine; if not, she was sure that Albert Roussel still desired her and he was now making lots of money.”

“She should have grabbed him,” George commented.

“Don’t wish that on Uncle Albert,” Ellen said a little tartly.

“Sorry,” George apologized.

Virgil continued, “She splurged far beyond her income and didn’t receive the romantic returns she expected. She was certainly no longer young and some of her less desirable traits of character were beginning to show through. So when her money began to run out, she wrote to Dr. Roussel and more or less put herself on the block. He turned her down.

“Hurrah!” Ellen said. “One question—how did you find this out?”

“I had quite an extended telephone conversation with her maid. Normally I don’t believe she would have told me this, even if I had asked her officially. But there was a small incident: Mrs. Pratt embarrassed her when she made tea for me during my first visit. Also she was told that I was not to be considered a guest in the house, either because of my profession or, more likely, my race. This did not set well with that young lady, so when the subject came up in our little talk, she told me about it. Of course Mrs. Pratt has very few secrets from her maid, who lives in.”

“I would think not,” Emily agreed.

“Now come the beginnings of murder,” Virgil continued. “She was a woman scorned. This was her prime and basic motivation; to a person of her vanity, having her supposed long-time suitor refuse her hand when it was freely offered was insufferable. It was a gross humiliation and her overdeveloped ego demanded revenge.”

“Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,” Linda said.

“Perhaps that would not have driven her all the way to murder,” Tibbs went on, “but other things piled up. She was well aware that her appeal to men as a prospective bride was all but gone. She was desperate for more money. And, despite
the fact that Albert Roussel had declined to marry her, she was still firmly convinced she was his heir, at least in part. When the company was organized, he was grateful for her support and told her that she would never lose by backing him. He offered to put up what assets he had at the time. She suggested to him that a legacy might be more appropriate, just in case something happened to him. This information came to me from his lawyer, who convinced him not to follow that suggestion.”

“I understood that a client’s conversations with his attorney were privileged,” Forrest said, making it a question.

“That’s correct,” Tibbs agreed. “But this was not the same thing. In this case the client had been murdered and I appealed to Mr. Wolfram to help me bring the persons responsible to justice. He was not required to answer me, but he chose to do so.”

“I see,” Forrest acknowledged. “One more thing, Virgil: do people ordinarily go to the extreme of murder just for revenge? In Italian operas, yes, but I find it hard to believe.”

“That’s because you’re a decent and well-adjusted person,” Virgil answered him. “But how many times have you picked up a newspaper and seen something that began with the words ‘estranged husband’? Unfortunately it’s a too familiar pattern. A husband and wife break up; after the separation the woman starts seeing another man. The estranged husband bursts in on them, does some shooting, and often ends up by killing himself.”

“Of course!” Linda interjected.

“As far as money went, she still owned the stock,” George pointed out.

“Yes, she did. But she couldn’t sell it. Dr. Roussel opposed
the sale of the company and had told her so.”

“I’m beginning to see,” Emily said. “With Dr. Roussel out of the way, she might be able to force the sale. She probably knew about Peterson and his troubles.”

“That’s right.”

“Wait a minute,” Ellen said. “Suppose she believed that the money in the estate would go to Mother—that is, the cash and assets like that—but that Uncle Albert would have left her the stock-for what she did for him. It would be very logical. In that case she could force the sale and take in twice as much.”

Tibbs nodded slowly. “I had the same thought. I can’t prove it’s right—not without a confession—but I’m sure of it just the same.”

Linda took over. “She knew McCormack’s chauffeur and got him—somehow—to do her dirty work for her.”

“That’s a little too fast,” Tibbs said. “Basically you’re right, but it isn’t that simple. It begins with the fact that Brown at one time was a decent enough man. He worked for Mr. McCormack for a considerable time. I learned that when he described the late Mrs. McCormack to me and said that she had died some time before. He was much better off than he realized; despite a limited education he had steady employment, a comfortable place on the estate to live, and, like all the members of Mr. McCormack’s household, he had been generously remembered in his employer’s will. He was to have received a legacy of two thousand dollars for each year of continuous service, which is a lot more than most people are able to save. He didn’t know that, but he should have realized that since his employer had no visible heirs, he would very likely be liberal toward those who had served him faithfully. But he didn’t reason this out and I guess McCormack’s attitude
toward his staff was not encouraging.”

“Do you know what got him off the track?” Forrest asked.

Tibbs hesitated. “Unfortunately I do. Part of it is due to the fact that he is a Negro and part of it is due directly to the scheming of Mrs. Pratt. Like myself, Brown came originally from the Deep South and his people are still down there. When the racial demonstrations first hit the place where he had lived, his only sister took an active part in a local biracial committee which was working toward peaceful equality—that is, until she was seized by some local white degenerates and raped. When Brown learned of this, he promptly joined one of the most militant of the Negro radical groups, and within a short time he built up a considerable hatred of Caucasians. He went so far as to take the club’s full course in street fighting—and, believe me, it’s a good one.”

Virgil shook his head; when he went on, his voice was in a lower key, and flatter. He was simply reciting facts.

“Mrs. Pratt knew Brown because Mr. McCormack, who is handicapped, seldom leaves his home and he frequently sent his car for her when there was business to discuss.”

“I can verify that,” Holt-Rymers contributed.

“Once or twice Brown had invited out Mrs. Pratt’s maid, who is a most respectable young lady. In telling me about it she informed me that Brown was among those arrested in the Watts riots which took place in the summer of 1965 in Los Angeles. She learned of it through a Negro newspaper; when she saw Brown’s name and photograph, she told her mistress about it to caution her. That’s what actually started things off.”

Virgil stopped and finished his iced tea. Linda promptly refilled his glass and then looked at him with lifted eyebrows.

“Knowing what she did about Brown, Mrs. Pratt dealt one off the bottom of the deck,” he said. “She told him that her people had once lived in the South and that she herself was one-sixteenth Negro—which, thank heavens for my people, was a lie—and that when she had told Dr. Roussel of this, he had broken their engagement and refused to marry her.”

“Of all things!” Linda exploded.

Tibbs drank some tea and continued. “When she had Brown thoroughly enraged at this supposed insult, she offered him a substantial sum of money to arrange some sort of ‘accident.’ Each time Dr. Roussel had visited the States in recent years, Mr. McCormack had sent his car to the airport to meet him, since they were very close friends. She gave Brown five hundred dollars in advance, by check, and wrote on it ‘for landscaping.’

“Wasn’t that plain stupid?” George asked.

“Of course it was, but she had the idea that when the check came back from the bank, she would be able to hold it over Brown’s head forever. She didn’t know, or had forgotten, that all checks which go through the clearinghouse are photographed. Anyway, I saw it before it was returned to her. It surprised me very much, so I got in touch with the gardeners’ association and found out who takes care of her place. I have a statement from him that no one else has worked on the property for some time.

“I’ll make the rest brief, if I may. Brown’s recent hatred of Caucasians, which was prejudice in direct reverse, was inflamed by the Watts affair and fanned even more by his belief that Dr. Roussel had refused to marry Mrs. Pratt because of her supposed Negro blood. He was well trained in violence and ready to act. Then Mrs. Pratt pushed him even farther,
and it was her undoing. I have explained that she was a woman scorned—a vicious, arrogantly egotistical, totally undisciplined, and spiteful woman—who wanted revenge and demanded it in spades. When the Western Sunbathing Association held its annual convention here, you got a great deal of publicity, as you know. That gave Mrs. Pratt her idea. She not only wanted Dr. Roussel killed; she wanted his body specifically left on your grounds.”

A look of comprehension came over Linda’s face. “The other possibility!” she exclaimed. “It wasn’t to embarrass
us
; it was to reflect on
him!
”