Bones Don't Lie Read online

  “It was after Mr. Locke left,” Jackie repeated. She seemed to be weighing each word with caution. “I left, too, but I came back again in about a quarter of an hour.”

  “Why did you go back?”

  She met his hard eyes calmly. “Mr. Harris had asked me to go there last night.”

  “What for?”

  “It was something confidential for him,” she said. “I’d rather he told you about it.”

  “And I’d rather you told us.” Lambert’s voice was harsh.

  The General cut in again. “We’re going to talk with Harris,” he said, quietly overruling the police detective. “We can find out from him at that time.”

  Once more Lambert looked angry. Once more he kept his mouth shut, but the muscles along his lean jaw knotted with the effort.

  “Go on, Miss North,” the General prompted.

  “Everything was quiet,” she said. “I thought I had the whole place to myself. Then I heard someone running down the steps from the chemical laboratory. I was in the big office and I went to look out into the corridor. It was Walter Keene. He looked very excited, and sort of…well, grim, you might say. He had some kind of an oblong yellow box with him and literally went dashing out of the building.”

  “Did he see you?”

  She hesitated. “No. I was in the dark.”

  “What then?”

  “Well, I went back to—to what I was doing. Then, after a little, I heard someone come in and go upstairs. I went out to look again.”

  “Whom did you see this time?”

  “No one. I just heard the footsteps on the stairs. They were sort of slow and—and heavy like. When I got to the foot of the stairs, whoever it was had gone and I found this little notebook on the third step from the bottom. I decided it was Keene who had come back.”

  “And I think you were right,” the General said grimly. “I think what you heard was the murderer carrying Keene’s body upstairs. That’s why the steps were slow and heavy. The notebook could have dropped from Keene’s pocket while the killer was carrying him up.”

  The girl shuddered and her emotion appeared genuine. “How awful! If I’d known…”

  “What did Cannon have to say about all this?” Flint demanded suddenly.

  “Cannon?”

  “Yes, Cannon. C-a-n-n-o-n.”

  “I don’t know anyone named Cannon.”

  The General said, “Be careful now, Miss North. I’m warning you to tell the truth.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “And you don’t know Glenn Cannon? How long have you been at Ironton, Miss North?”

  “Nearly a year.”

  “Only a year?”

  “Yes. I came here when Mr. Harris moved to Ironton.

  The General’s face cleared. “Oh, I see. You were his secretary when he was in New York. Harris brought you here with him?”

  Jackie said, “No. I never worked for American-Consolidated Steel before I came here. I’d been with Youngstown Sheet and Tube and had good secretarial experience. When I heard of this opportunity through an employment service, I applied for the position.”

  The General regarded Jackie closely. “As secretary to the Assistant General Superintendent of such a large plant you have a very nice job.”

  “I like it,” she agreed readily.

  “And you want to keep it, I’m sure.” The General spoke very quietly, but the implied threat did not escape the girl. “Now think carefully, Miss North. Are you sure you don’t know Cannon? Didn’t you ever hear his name mentioned?”

  “Well…” Her eyes fell before the General’s piercing scrutiny. “I didn’t say I never heard the name mentioned.”

  The General pounced. “Who mentioned it?”

  “This man”—she nodded again toward Ray—“was talking about Cannon last night.”

  “And that’s the only time you’ve heard about him?” The General was relentless.

  Jackie raised her eyes again. “No. I think I’ve heard either Mr. Tracy or Mr. Harris speak of him.”

  “Go on.”

  She seemed to reach a sudden decision. “All right,” she said. “I have heard of Glenn Cannon before.” She waved a small, slim hand toward the door to Tracy’s office adjoining. “Sometimes when people talk unusually loudly in there, I can’t help but overhear. I heard what happened when Cannon came in and applied for a job.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two days ago. Just before Mr. Raymond Locke”—surprisingly there was venom in the way she pronounced Ray’s name—“before Mr. Locke came in and was hired immediately over Mr. Harris’ objection.”

  “Go ahead,” the General prodded again as she paused.

  “There was an angry argument. Both Cannon and Mr. Tracy were practically shouting. That’s how I happened to hear. Tracy ordered Cannon out of the office. Tracy said Cannon had a ‘hell of a nerve’ to show his face around Ironton. He told him to get out and stay out and never to set foot inside his office again. After that…”

  The door to the outside corridor opened and Harris came in. He started with surprised disapproval when he saw Ray, but to the latter’s great relief, glanced past him to the other occupants of the room, and to all intents and purposes, ignored him.

  “All through at the new furnace,” he said to no one in particular. He bit the end from a cigar, spat the fragment of tobacco into the wastebasket. “She blew in nicely. Tracy’s still in session with the Blast Furnace Super. He’ll be in soon. He wants to see you, General.”

  U. G. Flint nodded. Then he turned again to Jackie North. “And after Tracy threw Cannon out?”

  “He called Bixler on the telephone,” she said. “He was still so mad he was yelling. He told Bixler that under no circumstances was Cannon to be allowed into the plant at any time.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” Jackie seemed strangely excited by her own recital.

  The General overlooked the disrespect of her last remark. “Bixler?” he said to Harris. “That’s the big company guard we sent after Locke this morning?”

  Harris said, “Yes. Bixler’s chief of the company police force—a rough customer.” He shifted the cigar to the other corner of his mouth and champed it between his teeth. “‘Windpipe’ Bixler, they call him, because he has a nice little habit, so I’ve been told, of getting his opponent by the throat, in a free-for-all. Bixler seems quite proud of his nickname.”

  “Perhaps,” the General suggested, “you gave Cannon a pass into the plant?” He glanced at Harris inquiringly.

  Harris said, “Not I. I think I remarked this morning that I’d never set eyes on the man. Anyhow, I wouldn’t have countermanded Mr. Tracy’s orders. In this case I agreed with him completely.” He shot a meaningful glance at Ray.

  “Then,” the General said slowly, “how did Cannon get into the plant?” He flipped the switch on the intercommunication box. “I’d like to have you get hold of Bixler,” he told Tracy’s secretary. “Ask him if he’s checked yet on whether any of his men let Cannon into the plant last night. If he says no, make sure he’s checked each entrance gate. When you have his reply, let me know.”

  Lieutenant Lambert leaned forward in his chair. His forefinger stabbed at Quentin Harris. “Assuming that Locke was not just lying and that he actually did see Cannon around the laboratory last night, what do you think your secretary was doing there with him?”

  Jackie North said, “I told you no one was with me.”

  “Quiet, sister. I’m talking to your boss now.”

  Harris said, “I wouldn’t know. Undoubtedly Locke is lying.”

  “That’s what I think,” Lambert agreed. “But I don’t know why, on a thing that’s not very important.” He turned back to Jackie. “Now, sister, time’s come for you to tell us what you were do
ing over there.”

  Jackie said simply, “I’ve already said that Mr. Harris asked me to go there.”

  “How about it, Mr. Harris? Why did you ask her to go into the plant in the middle of the night?”

  Quentin Harris eyes met those of U. G. Flint momentarily. Then, “I’m sure there would have been no reason for me to do such a thing!” he said coolly.

  There was sudden panic in Jackie North’s big brown eyes. “But, Mr. Harris,” she cried, “you can’t say a thing like that. They’ll think I had something to do with that…with the murder!”

  The voice of Tracy’s secretary cut in suddenly from the desk box. “I’ve talked with Bixler, sir. He says none of his men let Cannon into the plant last night. None of them even saw Cannon.”

  “He’s been in touch with each entrance to the works?”

  “Yes, sir. That’s what he says.”

  Lieutenant Lambert was sitting tensely on his chair edge. “Someone’s lying,” he said belligerently. “I want to know why this girl went into the plant last night. Now look, Mr. Harris—”

  The General interrupted. “The testimony doesn’t altogether jibe, that’s a fact. But these details aren’t too important. We’ll get to the bottom of it all, later.”

  “What’s the matter with doing it right now?” Lambert demanded. He swung savagely to Quentin Harris.

  “Incidentally,” he said, chopping his words with brutal emphasis, “we’ve been told that you made some remarks about how Keene needed to be killed. What about that, Harris?”

  Harris was startled. “Who said that?”

  “I ask ’em, you answer ’em,” Lambert snapped.

  Harris’ teeth almost bit his cigar in two. “I don’t like your attitude,” he told the police officer curtly. “Anyone would think I’m the one under suspicion for killing Keene.”

  Lambert didn’t mince words. “You are! Everyone within a hundred miles of this plant is suspect until we nab the killer. No reason why a big shot couldn’t have done the job as well as a little fellow. Just because a guy’s got a big job doesn’t mean he’s out of the picture.”

  There was ruddy color in Harris’ beefy face. “You’re absurd!” he spluttered. “Why should I want to kill a plant employee? Why, Keene was no more than a skilled workman, a technician. What good would it do me to murder such a man?”

  “I don’t know,” Lambert admitted bitterly. “But, by God, I’m going to find out!”

  The General sat very straight in his chair, his face absolutely devoid of expression. “It was my understanding you were going to let me conduct this investigation,” he said coldly. “If that’s the case, I should appreciate being allowed to do so in my own way.”

  “It was my understanding,” Lambert repeated the words angrily, “that you were attempting to find out who killed this guy Keene!”

  The General stood up abruptly. “I suggest we adjourn to Mr. Tracy’s office.” He bowed stiffly to Jackie North. “Thank you, Miss North, for your information. At the moment I think we needn’t bother you any further.”

  Chapter Seven

  Not until they were settled again in Tracy’s office did the General reply to Lieutenant Lambert’s remark.

  “What else,” he asked icily, “do you think I’ve been trying to do if it isn’t to find Keene’s slayer?”

  Lambert returned the General’s stare without flinching. “It almost seems,” he said bluntly, “as if you’re trying to avoid information, trying to whitewash the most likely suspects. For instance Locke here, then the North girl, and now Harris.”

  The General’s bald streak glowed suddenly pink. His fathomless eyes gleamed excitedly.

  “Lambert,” he roared, “I’ve handled matters as far beyond your depth as the Tuscorora Deep would be over the head of a pearl diver!”

  “Just the same,” Lambert insisted stubbornly, “you’re not being very skillful about this. The police would…”

  U. G. Flint’s rage subsided as suddenly as it had started. “You have the authority of the police department behind you,” he told Lambert evenly. “If you want to take matters out of my hands, you can. And this is the time to do it. Let’s just get it settled right now, once and for all. If you wish me to bow out, let me know so I can inform New York immediately.”

  “Handle it your own way,” Lambert muttered sullenly. He sunk back into the chair depths.

  The General said, “That’s better. Now, just for your information, I might say that the answers to the particular questions you have raised are a splendid demonstration of mind over matter.” His eyes twinkled momentarily. “I don’t mind if they are not answered, because they do not matter.”

  Lambert did not reply, but his expression showed his disgust.

  The General turned to Quentin Harris as if there had been no interruption. “Can you tell us anything at all,” he asked, “which might be helpful on this murder angle?”

  “First I knew about it,” Harris said, “was when the laboratory called this morning. You were in my office at the time, General. We got Mr. Tracy, informed him of what had happened, and the three of us went over together.”

  “You didn’t happen to be around the plant last night yourself?”

  “Not in the plant. I was in this building working in my office until very late. I didn’t leave until nearly three in the morning.”

  “But you didn’t go inside the works?”

  “No.”

  The anteroom door opened and in came Leonard Tracy. U. G. Flint made a move as if to get up and give Tracy the desk chair.

  Tracy said, “Stay where you are, General.” He slid into a seat against the wall.

  “We’ve been discussing the murder,” Flint informed him. “And we’ve developed some very pertinent and interesting facts.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Lieutenant Lambert muttered sulkily. “I’d thought there was no progress at all.”

  U. G. Flint swung around briskly to the police officer. “For your information,” he said, “young Locke has helped find the weapon which killed Keene. That, you will agree, is progress. And since Ray Locke was instrumental in leading us to the actual scene of the murder, I thought it only fitting he should sit in with us while we talked with the other persons involved.”

  Lambert perked up visibly. “You located the murder weapon? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now.” The General brought Lambert up to date on their visit to the hammer shop and discovery of the swage. “I took the precaution of carrying it over to the laboratory building, and locking it in a closet off Ashley’s office. Here’s the key.”

  The homicide lieutenant got up quickly. “I want to get my men busy on that right away. There might be prints.”

  “Just what I was going to suggest,” Flint said. “Also that you have your men check the time cards of all the people we’ve interviewed this morning to verify what they’ve said.”

  Lambert looked hard at Quentin Harris. “Shall I check his time card, also?”

  Harris’ face got red again. “It happens that I don’t punch any time card. I’m Assistant General Superintendent of this plant. Everyone up to that rank is required to punch. I’m not.”

  “Excuse me!” Lambert’s inflection was sarcastic.

  After the lieutenant had gone, U. G. Flint turned to Tracy. “I think it would be an excellent idea,” he said, nodding toward Ray Locke, “if this young man could be transferred to the Test Department instead of wasting his very obvious talents as an ordinary workman.”

  “I’d thought of that myself, General,” Tracy said quickly. “It occurred to me, however, if that were done, we at this plant might be subject to criticism from the higher-ups in New York. After that unfortunate episode—”

  Flint interrupted. “Yes, I know. And I can well understand your reluctance to place yourself in a situation
which might be misunderstood. I shall make sure personally that no such misapprehension occurs.”

  Ray glanced at Quentin Harris. He expected the blocky Assistant General Superintendent to make some objection, as he had before. To Ray’s surprise, Harris kept his mouth shut.

  Tracy said, “You will explain that this change is being made at your own specific request, General?”

  U. G. Flint said, “That’s right. Is it all arranged, then?”

  Tracy nodded. “It’s all arranged!”

  He gave Ray a friendly smile. From where the latter was sitting, the ugly red scar of the man’s burn was not visible and Tracy looked more handsome than ever before.

  “Well, General,” he said, after a pause, “I suppose you’ve sewed up the case against our Ironton killer.”

  U. G. Flint laughed mirthlessly. “It isn’t quite that simple. I’m afraid there are still some devious paths to be explored before we can put our finger on the guilty party.”

  “With your ability, General,” Tracy said smoothly, “the final result is inevitable. The murderer might as well confess right now.”

  “You flatter me!” U. G. Flint settled back, jiggling comfortably in Tracy’s desk chair. “We already have five people who had both the possible opportunity and the possible motive, and another with at least a motive. Probably there are more.”

  “Who are the five?” Tracy inquired.

  “Locke, Gaylord, Miss Dunne, Miss North and Cannon.” The General ticked them off on his fingers. “No one except Locke saw Cannon. Locke might have been mistaken. But the rest were definitely near the laboratory building last night.”

  “Who’s the other?” Tracy asked.

  “‘Windpipe’ Bixler,” Flint said. He went on to tell Tracy what Gaylord had said. “I’ve already asked Lieutenant Lambert to find out where Bixler was last night. Of course, Bixler’s motive seems very weak for murder, but a man of Bixler’s type might think as little of killing as you or I would of hitting another man with our fist.”

  “An ugly customer,” Harris agreed.

  “In fact, all the motivations seem weak,” the General went on reflectively, “at least the surface motivations. Now if it were Ashley who had been killed that would be different. Promotion for either Gaylord or Miss Dunne would be involved.”