Beware The Pale Horse: A Wade Paris Mystery. Ben Benson
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“Thirty-four, Mrs. Endicott.”
“A year younger than Charles,” she said. “But you carry yourself well. I like that in a man. I wish Charles had taken better care of his body. He had a tendency to thicken around the waist.”
Paris said, “I know you’ve been under a strain, Mrs. Endicott. So I’m not going to take up too much of your time. I thought possibly you could tell me a few things that would help us.”
She looked down at her hands. “I’ve answered a great many questions. Your commissioner was here. He’s a pompous old fool and nothing more than a political charlatan. With him was a very mediocre officer, a Lieutenant Coyne. I know now how big a price we pay for mediocrity. I’ve lost my son on account of it.”
“No, Mrs. Endicott,” Paris said. “Not because of that.”
“Naturally you wouldn’t say so. Policemen are notorious for defending their own, no matter how bad or incompetent. Now you’re going to ask questions. You’re going to start like they did. By asking me if my son had any enemies.”
“Yes,” Paris said.
“Charles had no enemies,” she said wearily. “I can’t ever conceive of Charles having enemies. He was a quiet, soft-spoken boy and he was engrossed in the museum. He’s the youngest trustee the museum ever had.”
“He left a considerable estate,” Paris said. “Who inherits it?”
“Now wait, Martha,” Hanft said quickly. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Stop it, George,” Mrs. Endicott said. “Don’t be so damned eager to protect my interests. My son has been murdered and I want his killer brought to justice as swiftly as possible. Nothing is sacrosanct when it comes to that. Tell the boy.”
Hanft looked down at the rug for a moment. His eyes came up and scanned Paris. “When Mr. Charles, Senior, died, he left a large trust fund to Mrs. Endicott. The residue of the estate went to his son, Charles, Junior. Now that Mr. Charles was unmarried and without heirs the entire estate will revert to Mrs. Endicott.”
“In other words nobody benefits financially from his death,” Paris said.
“Hardly,” Hanft said. “Mrs. Endicott already has more than enough for the remainder of her life. There will be some large charitable bequests. But they’re secret, of course.”
Paris, preoccupied, nodded. He walked over near the sideboard and stood under the oil painting. He examined the scrawled signature of Walter Almieda underneath.
“This Walter Almieda,” Paris said. “How friendly was your son with him, Mrs. Endicott?”
“They met in college. Walter came from a poor family, but he was very clever. He went to Harvard on scholarships. Are you a Harvard man, Inspector?”
“No, Mrs. Endicott. I went to State.”
“I see,” Mrs. Endicott said. “It really makes no difference. Charles went into the Navy during the war. He served as a flag officer in the Pacific. Walter Almieda stayed home, doing poster work for the Army. What did you do, Inspector? Did you stay home too?”
“No,” Paris said briefly. “I was a captain in the Infantry.”
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Endicott said. “I seem to have misjudged you. Perhaps you’re not like your colleagues after all. I know I must have sounded very bitter. You have my apologies, Inspector.”
“No,” Paris said. “I understand. But I would like to know more about your son and Walter Almieda.”
“Charles was a great deal like his father,” she said, “in his interest in art and research. My son became attached to Walter Almieda. He gave Walter money to further his career. He sent Walter to France. He had Walter’s paintings exhibited and bought many himself. He saw that his friends bought them. You see, Charles worshipped art. Too much. He had no time for anything else. His father loved art, but he loved life too. His father was different. There was romance in him.”
“How did Walter Almieda feel toward your son?”
“What reciprocation Walter showed, I don’t know. Personally, I think Walter is a hard, calculating young opportunist. And I think he would use Charles as much as he could. But I might be saying that with prejudice.”
“I take it you don’t like Mr. Almieda,” Paris said.
“No, I don’t.”
“Then there’s Miss Wyman,” Paris said. “She was engaged to your son.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Endicott said. “I never interfered with Charles’s personal affairs. My son couldn’t judge people. He had no knack at all for earthly things. But I didn’t interfere. He met Karen Wyman when she was secretary to Victor Konstanz, the art dealer. She made a show of being interested in art. And because of that Charles became interested in her. What Karen was really interested in, I have a good idea. But it wasn’t art. I can’t say I was fond of her, Inspector.”
“Where is she now?”
“She was at Almieda’s cottage last night,” Chief Kay said. “I don’t know if she’s come back.”
“She’s still at Walter Almieda’s,” Mrs. Endicott said. “There’s the answer to some of her interests, Inspector.”
“Thank you,” Paris said. He turned to Mr. Hanft. “Counsellor,” he said, “how well do you know the Lincolns?”
“Very well,” Hanft said. “We’ve been neighbors here at the beach for twelve years. I do corporation work for Fred Lincoln.”
“I notice from Lieutenant Coyne’s report that the Lincolns were at your house last night. Who else was there, Counsellor?”
“My wife and Lincoln’s son and daughter-in-law.”
“What time did they get there?”
“About eight-thirty. We sat down to play cards at nine.”
“It’s important I establish the exact time,” Paris said. “I’d like to pin it down if I can.”
“It was exactly nine when we started the card game. That can be verified. Because a minute before then I was talking on the telephone to John Noble. He spoke only briefly to me, but I was impatient and I kept looking at my watch.”
“What was the conversation about?”
“Nothing important. It was about the storage pieces. Noble is the curator of the Endicott Collection.”
“What storage pieces?”
“The Endicotts have a large collection,” Hanft said. “Most of it is on exhibit at the Eastern City Museum. Some of the pieces are on loan to other museums. But there are many objects that have been shown and withdrawn. They’re in storage at the museum. The Endicotts pay a personal property tax on them. As long as they’re not being shown, I suggested that we sell them, or donate them somewhere. I had talked to Mr. Noble about it and he had agreed with me.”
“What about Mr. Endicott? How did he feel about it?”
“He disagreed with us. He said they had belonged to his father and now they were part of the family estate. It was a matter of sentiment. He said he would continue to pay the tax.”
“So that closed the matter?”
“Yes, as far as I was concerned. It was my duty to inform him on tax problems. I informed him. He made the decision.”
“Then why did Mr. Noble call you?”
“He had a duplicate of the inventory. Mr. Noble is very exacting and fussy about his work. His whole life revolves around the museum. He wanted to know if the matter was closed so he could return the inventory list to his files. I said yes.”
“All