Top Secret thing.”
“Yes . . . yes, of course. I understand.”
Leaving the doctor sipping his coffee and trying to steady his shaking hands, Terrell joined Beigler in the corridor.
“Doc is doing a Sherlock Holmes act,” Beigler said, a resigned note in his voice. “You’d better talk to him.”
Terrell followed Beigler up the stairs. They entered Paul Forrester’s room where Detective Fred Hess of the Homicide Squad was sitting on the bed, writing in his notebook and Dr. Lowis, the M.O. was watching two ambulance attendants get Fred Lewis’s body on to a stretcher.
Lowis, a short, fat man had Terrell’s respect. They had worked together for a long time and Terrell valued Lowis’s work and his opinions.
“You got something, doc?” he asked as the two men carried the stretcher out.
“I guess so,” Lowis returned. “This is supposed to be the murder weapon.” He pointed to the leg of a chair, lying on a strip of plastic on the table. “There are blood and brains on it. At first sight, it is obviously the murder weapon, but I can’t see how it can be. The man’s skull was smashed. The weapon that inflicted such an injury must have been something like a loaded cosh . . . even a steel bar. To have hit a man that hard would have broken the chair leg.”
Terrell looked at Hess, a thickset man with a round face and granite hard eyes.
“You got anything, Fred?”
“Doc’s right. I go along with his theory. And another thing . . . there are no prints on the chair leg. Whoever handled it wore gloves.”
Terrell pulled at his thick nose while he thought.
“Why should Forrester have worn gloves?” he asked eventually. “Did he own a pair of gloves?”
“I asked,” Hess said. “No . . . he had no gloves.”
“Could he have wiped the chair clean of prints?”
“Why should he? Anyway, the chair leg hasn’t been wiped. There are blood smears right up the leg.”
Again Terrell paused to think, then he said, “Any of his clothes missing?”
“A blue tropical suit, a shirt, underwear, socks and shoes. I got Mason to check the closet.”
Terrell looked at the broken chair lying on its side in the corner of the room.
“No prints there?”
“No.”
“Okay . . . take the chair. We’ll experiment with it. Let’s see how the other legs stand up to a real heavy blow.”
While Hess was instructing one of his men to take care of the chair, Terrell joined Beigler in the hall below.
“Anything, Joe?”
“Nothing much. I’ve talked to the gate-man. He was asleep, but he thinks he heard a car start up during the night. He won’t swear to it, and he didn’t look at the time.”
“A car? What would a car be doing up here in the night? It’s a cul-de-sac.”
“He won’t swear to it.”
“It’s important, Joe. If he did hear a car, then it looks as if Forrester had outside help. It’s going to make the hunt for him much more tricky.”
“Doc thinks Lewis was killed around two o’clock. That would give Forrester a two hour start. If he had a car, the road blocks are now so much waste of time.”
“Could be he had outside help. The murder weapon bothers me. Lewis’s skull was cracked open. How did Forrester get hold of a weapon that could inflict such an injury and why did he try to make us believe the injury was caused by the chair leg?”
The noise of a droning helicopter made both men look at each other, then they moved to the front door and walked out into the grey light of the dawn.
“Williams has been quick,” Terrell said as both men watched a low flying helicopter with U.S. Army markings, sweeping around the mansion. “I have an idea this is also a waste of time. If Forrester had a car, then he is miles away by now.”
Beigler said, “Do we put out a five State alarm, Chief?”
“I’ll have to ask Williams. I’ll get back to headquarters. If we send out an alarm, the press will pick it up. It’ll make headlines around the world. Forrester is important. Keep
“Yes . . . yes, of course. I understand.”
Leaving the doctor sipping his coffee and trying to steady his shaking hands, Terrell joined Beigler in the corridor.
“Doc is doing a Sherlock Holmes act,” Beigler said, a resigned note in his voice. “You’d better talk to him.”
Terrell followed Beigler up the stairs. They entered Paul Forrester’s room where Detective Fred Hess of the Homicide Squad was sitting on the bed, writing in his notebook and Dr. Lowis, the M.O. was watching two ambulance attendants get Fred Lewis’s body on to a stretcher.
Lowis, a short, fat man had Terrell’s respect. They had worked together for a long time and Terrell valued Lowis’s work and his opinions.
“You got something, doc?” he asked as the two men carried the stretcher out.
“I guess so,” Lowis returned. “This is supposed to be the murder weapon.” He pointed to the leg of a chair, lying on a strip of plastic on the table. “There are blood and brains on it. At first sight, it is obviously the murder weapon, but I can’t see how it can be. The man’s skull was smashed. The weapon that inflicted such an injury must have been something like a loaded cosh . . . even a steel bar. To have hit a man that hard would have broken the chair leg.”
Terrell looked at Hess, a thickset man with a round face and granite hard eyes.
“You got anything, Fred?”
“Doc’s right. I go along with his theory. And another thing . . . there are no prints on the chair leg. Whoever handled it wore gloves.”
Terrell pulled at his thick nose while he thought.
“Why should Forrester have worn gloves?” he asked eventually. “Did he own a pair of gloves?”
“I asked,” Hess said. “No . . . he had no gloves.”
“Could he have wiped the chair clean of prints?”
“Why should he? Anyway, the chair leg hasn’t been wiped. There are blood smears right up the leg.”
Again Terrell paused to think, then he said, “Any of his clothes missing?”
“A blue tropical suit, a shirt, underwear, socks and shoes. I got Mason to check the closet.”
Terrell looked at the broken chair lying on its side in the corner of the room.
“No prints there?”
“No.”
“Okay . . . take the chair. We’ll experiment with it. Let’s see how the other legs stand up to a real heavy blow.”
While Hess was instructing one of his men to take care of the chair, Terrell joined Beigler in the hall below.
“Anything, Joe?”
“Nothing much. I’ve talked to the gate-man. He was asleep, but he thinks he heard a car start up during the night. He won’t swear to it, and he didn’t look at the time.”
“A car? What would a car be doing up here in the night? It’s a cul-de-sac.”
“He won’t swear to it.”
“It’s important, Joe. If he did hear a car, then it looks as if Forrester had outside help. It’s going to make the hunt for him much more tricky.”
“Doc thinks Lewis was killed around two o’clock. That would give Forrester a two hour start. If he had a car, the road blocks are now so much waste of time.”
“Could be he had outside help. The murder weapon bothers me. Lewis’s skull was cracked open. How did Forrester get hold of a weapon that could inflict such an injury and why did he try to make us believe the injury was caused by the chair leg?”
The noise of a droning helicopter made both men look at each other, then they moved to the front door and walked out into the grey light of the dawn.
“Williams has been quick,” Terrell said as both men watched a low flying helicopter with U.S. Army markings, sweeping around the mansion. “I have an idea this is also a waste of time. If Forrester had a car, then he is miles away by now.”
Beigler said, “Do we put out a five State alarm, Chief?”
“I’ll have to ask Williams. I’ll get back to headquarters. If we send out an alarm, the press will pick it up. It’ll make headlines around the world. Forrester is important. Keep
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