Inspector Queen’s Own Case

Jessie shut her eyes. She heard a phone operator’s unmistakable cadence. The old man said, “Yes?” again in the same hoarse voice and the operator said something back and then there was silence.

He muffled the speaker against his chest.

“New Haven calling,” he told her.

“New Haven?” Jessie opened her eyes wide.

“Always play a hunch. This may foul me up with my old friends, but I’m here and they aren’t — yes?”

The man’s voice was clipped, successful-sounding. “This is Dr. Samuel Duane calling. Is Mr. Alton K. Humffrey there?”

“Humffrey?” Richard Queen said in the Finner voice. “What do you want him for?”

“It’s confidential.” The doctor’s tone had an urgent, almost a harried, vibrato. “I must speak to Mr. Humffrey.”

“You’ll have to tell me what it’s about, Dr. Duane.” He glanced over at Jessie, winking.

“I’m Mrs. Humffrey’s physician. She’s... worse, and I must find her husband. Do you know—?”

“How bad is she?”

“See here, is Mr. Humffrey there, or isn’t he?”

“Well, no, Doctor, but maybe I can find him for you. Did you call his summer place in Connecticut?”

“Good lord, man, do you think I’m an idiot? His housekeeper tells me he left Nair Island yesterday driving the small car and saying he wouldn’t be back till tonight or tomorrow. Is—?”

“Didn’t he say where he was going?”

“No! She gave me the phone numbers of all the places he might be — clubs, Park Avenue apartment, his home in Concord, even Mrs. Humffrey’s relatives in Massachusetts. But I haven’t been able to trace him. Have you any idea where he might have gone? I understand you’ve done some confidential legal work for him.”

“Who told you that?”

“The chauffeur, I think, suggested your name. What difference does it make?” Dr. Duane sounded at the point of explosion. “Will you give me something definite or won’t you? I tell you this is urgent!”

“Well, Doctor, I guess I can’t help you at that, Doctor. But if I should hear from him—”

Dr. Duane slammed his receiver.

Richard Queen looked at Jessie as he hung up. “Queer...”

“What did he say, Richard?”

He told her.

“But I don’t see anything queer about it. Except the coincidence of calling here just when...”

He was shaking his head, frowning, staring at Finner.

Finally he said, “Jessie, I want you to go home.”

“And leave you holding the bag?”

“I’ve got to notify the police.”

“Why?” Jessie protested. “Why can’t we just leave? He’ll be found by a cleaning woman, or a watchman or somebody. Nobody saw us come in.”

He was smiling. “You can’t teach an old police dog new tricks. A homicide has to be reported as soon as it’s discovered.”

“Then why didn’t you pick up the phone and call the minute you walked in here?” Jessie retorted.

“You’re a hard woman, Jessie,” he murmured. “All right, maybe I’ve come to feel that this is my case. Mine and yours... You and I know the two homicides are connected, but with the Humffrey envelope gone, there’s no reason for them to link Finner’s murder up with a Connecticut baby-smothering case that’s been written off as an accidental death. Not right away, anyway. Meanwhile, we’ll have some room to stretch in.”

“Why don’t you ask for reinstatement, Richard?” Jessie asked quietly. “If they knew you’d been in on this from the start, perhaps they’d give you a special assignment to take charge of the case.”

He shook his head again. “Things don’t work that way. The New York Police Department has two thousand detectives working out of precincts and Headquarters, not to mention some twenty or so thousand men and women in other police jobs. They don’t need old man Queen. Come on, Jessie, I’ll see you out of the building. I don’t want some night man to spot you.”

Jessie looked back just before he shut the door.

The fat man was still sitting there like an abandoned balloon.

It was after eleven that night when the phone rang.

“Jessie?”

“I’ve been losing my mind,” Jessie exclaimed. “Richard, where are you? Why haven’t you called before? Is everything all right?”

“Fine, fine” he said. “I’m down at Headquarters chewing the fat with the boys. Going to bed?”

She understood that he couldn’t talk freely and wouldn’t be able to come over.

“You can’t see me tonight, is that it?”

“Right. I’ll ring you in the morning.”

“Good night, Richard.”

Jessie hung up and surveyed the table she had set. She had bought minute steaks, frozen French frieds, and some salad vegetables in a delicatessen on 72nd Street, thinking to treat him to a home meal when he came. So that’s what policemen’s wives’ lives were like...

What am I thinking of? Jessie thought guiltily. And she turned on Gloria Sardella’s TV set and watched the Late Show. It was an old British film about a Scotland Yard detective and a master London criminal. The master London criminal was an enormously fat man. He didn’t look anything like A. Burt Finner, but after fifteen minutes Jessie snapped the set off with a shiver and went to bed.