Beware The Pale Horse: A Wade Paris Mystery. Ben Benson
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wiped clean. That would take time, at least a minute or two. The killer knew his way around. After all, there were people in this house.”
“Yes,” Kay said. “He wasn’t in no hurry.”
“All right,” Paris said. “Let’s go in and talk to the Davises.”
They were waiting for him when he came into the foyer, Mr. Davis, a head shorter than his wife, wearing an open-throated tan shirt, tan trousers and heavy army shoes. His face and hands were sunburnt and his thin gray hair was combed carefully across his head.
Paris acknowledged the introduction, shaking hands with Davis, feeling the strength of his grip. He said, “Now tell me what happened last night, Mr. Davis.”
Davis looked at his wife. His wife said, “Henry isn’t much for talking. It’s better I start it.”
“All right,” Paris said to her. “You tell it.”
“Mr. Charles sent us to bed early,” she said. “Eight-thirty, I think. Is that right, Henry?”
Mr. Davis bobbed his head.
“Eight-thirty,” Mrs. Davis said. “Mr. Charles said he was expecting visitors and he didn’t want anybody around.”
“Did he tell you who they were?”
“Yes. He said a state detective was coming. Also a young man with a statue.”
“You didn’t see any of them arrive?”
“Yes. About ten minutes to nine we heard a car turn into the driveway. I looked out the window of my room. It was an ordinary black sedan. A big husky man came out and went into the house.”
“That was Lieutenant Hallmark,” Paris said. “You didn’t see the young man come?”
“No, sir. I didn’t hear any more cars.”
“All right,” Paris said. “So you went to bed. Then what happened?”
“We didn’t go to bed,” Mrs. Davis said. “We were in our room. Then we heard some shots. Three of them.”
“What time was that?”
“Nine o’clock. I know because we have a chime clock on our mantel and it had just stopped sounding. We weren’t sure they were shots either. Sometimes when the boats go out from the basin, and they come by the Point, and they’re not warmed up properly, they backfire.”
“Why didn’t you think this was backfire?”
“Because the sound was kind of muffled. Like from the inside of the house. On the water they sound louder. That’s why I told Henry to go down and see.”
Paris turned to Mr. Davis. “What did you find?”
Davis, his hands tightly clenched, unclasped them. “The library door was locked, and there was a funny smell like gunpowder. I knocked on the door and I called out for Mr. Charles. But there was no answer. So I went upstairs and told Elizabeth.”
“Yes,” his wife said. “I told him to get the master key and I went back downstairs with him. He unlocked the door.”
“Yes, sir,” Davis said. “They were in there, dead. On the floor. They looked terrible, sir.”
“You didn’t touch anything?”
“No, sir,” Davis said. “We didn’t go into the room. Elizabeth told me to stand at the door and she went into the hallway to phone the Chief.”
“And you did that?” Paris asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I dialed the operator and told her to get Chief Kay. I said Mr. Charles and another man were dead.”
“You didn’t use the telephone in the library?”
“We didn’t go into the library. I wouldn’t have gone in there for all the money in the world.”
“What did you do after you made the phone call?”
“I ran to get Mrs. Endicott.”
“Where was she?”
“She was taking her evening walk. Just like clockwork she is. She leaves at eight-thirty, circles the grounds once, and comes back at nine-thirty.”
“Every night?”
“Yes, sir. Even if it rains. Mrs. Endicott is a great believer in walks.”
“And where did you find Mrs. Endicott?”
“Just outside the house, sir. She had heard the shots too. She was running toward me. I wouldn’t let her in the library. I took her upstairs to her room. And I stayed with her until nine-thirty, when Mr. Noble came.”
“According to Lieutenant Coyne’s report,” Paris said, “you saw a boat going by the bluff. You didn’t recognize who was in it?”
“No, sir. It was pitch-dark. I saw the boat. It had its outboard going full blast. It wasn’t Mr. Charles’s boat because that was at the dock. This boat was heading in toward the basin. I couldn’t see who was in it.”
“And where was Mr. Endicott’s fiancée this whole time?”
“Miss Wyman was out,” she said. “She had left at eight o’clock.”
“With whom?”
“Mr. Almieda. He’s the artist friend of Mr. Charles. He called for her.”
“Did Mr. Almieda come in a car?”
“Yes. He has a little convertible.”
“And after Mr. Almieda left with Miss Wyman, the next car you heard was the black sedan of Lieutenant Hallmark. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“There were no other cars until Chief Kay arrived?”
“No, sir.”
“All right,” Paris said. “Thank you, Mrs. Davis. Would you know if Mrs. Endicott is available?”
“She’s in the living room with Mr. Hanft,” she said. “I’ll go and see, sir.”
She left. Mr. Davis shifted his feet, looked at them apologetically, and moved out toward the front entrance. Paris and Kay waited. A man opened a door and came into the foyer. He was a tall man. He had curly gray hair, a high forehead with a tan on it, an ascetic face. He was wearing a beige-colored tropical-worsted suit, a white shirt and a dark tie. His wing-toed cordovan shoes were highly polished.
“My name is George Hanft,” the man said, putting his hand out to Paris. “I’m the Endicott attorney. Mrs. Endicott will see you. She’s quite composed now, but there have been a lot of questions. I wouldn’t talk to her too much, Inspector.”
“I won’t,” Paris said. “I’ll be as brief as possible.”
Paris followed the attorney into the living room, with Chief Kay close behind. There was a huge Regency sideboard along one wall. Over it was a large oil painting of Sunset Point, the big white house, and a wind-whipped sea. The room was long and wide, the ceiling, beamed wood. There were round-seated needlework chairs, bigger chairs in rich tapestry. At the back of the room were large square windows. French doors led to the terrace.
A woman sat on a brocaded oval sofa. She had gray, shingled hair that was swept back on one side and secured with a jeweled clip. She was wearing a dark dress without ornamentation. Her face was long, thin and bloodless, and her mouth was small and tightly drawn.
Mr. Hanft said, “Martha, this is Detective-Inspector Paris. You know the Chief, of course.”
Mrs. Endicott nodded slightly. She motioned them to sit down. They remained standing. Kay scuffed his foot on the thick pile of the rug and twisted his cap in his hands. He said, “Mrs. Endicott, the whole town is awful sorry about what