“No cartridges,” Daisy asked, “or whatever you put in a six-shooter?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Whatdidyou find, Detective?” said Miss Genevieve.
“Nuttin, ma’am.”
“He’s skedaddled?”
“No, ma’am. Nuttin of int’rest, I shoulda said. Just a few clothes, coupla shirts, kinda old-fashioned, nuttin fancy, no evening dress or nuttin, and a cardboard suitcase. There was a coupla packs of cigarette papers—no tobacco pouch, I guess he got it on him—and a big manila envelope with a stack of paper in it, writing paper, all written on.”
“Not typed?” Daisy said.
“No, ma’am, and the writing was dang near impossible to read, but it wasn’t letters or nuttin useful.”
“His manuscript,” said Miss Genevieve. “He won’t leave without that.”
“Izzat so? The sergeant’ll be pleased to hear that, ma’am.He’ll still want to see Mr. Pitt, I guess, but there wasn’t nuttin useful anywheres, like I said.”
“Drat,” said Daisy. Wilbur Pitt was the only suspect she had much chance of investigating, but it seemed less and less likely that he had put a bullet into his cousin after a family squabble. She would still like to talk to him, though.
“You didn’t reckernize none of the faces in the mug book, ma‘am?” O’Rourke asked her.
Daisy shook her head. “No, sorry. But I’m still sure I’d recognize him if I saw him. Pretty sure.”
“I’ll tell Sergeant Gilligan, ma‘am.” Detective O’Rourke departed with the mug book under his arm.
Turning to Miss Genevieve, Daisy asked, “Well, what do you think?”
Miss Genevieve sighed. “I expect Gilligan’s right, and Barton Bender hired someone to kill Carmody. He did, after all, have a double motive.”
“Double?” said Lambert blankly.
“Fear of exposure of his unsavory business methods, and to free Mrs. Carmody,” Daisy explained, “so that he could marry her.”
“Gee, I guess so.”
“Do you think Mrs. Carmody knew what Bender planned, Miss Genevieve?”
“Hmm.” After a moment’s thought, the old lady said reluctantly, “Perhaps not. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she had asked him to put her husband out of the way and he told her it was too risky. And then he changed his mind when Carmody’s investigations threatened him.”
“I doubt she knew,” said Daisy. “She was a rotten liar.”
“Those crocodile tears!”
“Oh dear!”
“Don’t be naive, sister.”
“She really was crying at one point,” Daisy argued. “I believe she loved him once and his death hurt her when she let herself feel it. Actually, I’m rather sorry for both of them.”
“An ill-matched pair,” Miss Genevieve acknowledged. “No doubt he fell for a pretty face, like most men, and didn’t realize for some time that there was nothing behind it. He grew up. She didn’t. Learn by his example, young man!” she admonished Lambert sternly.
“Gee whiz,” he said obediently, “I’ll sure try, ma’am.”
“She’s trying to have it both ways, of course. She wants to keep Bender, yet she’s afraid of being charged as an accomplice. It’s not because I’m sorry for the dumb broad,” Miss Genevieve went on with one of her startling lapses into the vernacular, “that I’ll be keeping an eye on Rosenblatt and Gilligan. I’m not by any means convinced of Bender’s guilt. I’ll keep pushing them to make absolutely certain Tammany isn’t involved.”
“Won’t that guy Pascoli do that?” Lambert enquired. “I mean, I bought a couple of newspapers this morning and they were full of the murder of a muckraker that was investigating Tammany Hall. I figure it must be Pascoli put them onto it.”
