The Madman Theory by Ellery Queen

expected,” said Collins. “But there’s one little thing I see that cheers me up.” He made an entry in his notebook and went off for a talk with Mrs. Menendez.
    She was a short dark woman, speaking accented English. She was excited by the proximity of crime. Yes, she told Collins with flashing hands, she had noticed the car drive into Matthews Street on the night of Tuesday, June 16. The lights had gone past her windows about nine o’clock—she had been expecting her sister to call and had run to the door, only to see the car halt a few feet down the street.
    â€œThen what happened?”
    â€œThen nothing happen. I see this man sitting in the car, he sit for a minute like he thinks real hard. I notice him because I wonder why somebody want to stop in the middle of the road so late at night. But he don’t look like he was leaving, so I go back in the house. When I go to see again, during the commercial, the car look empty. I could see because the light down by Flora Street is shining through the windshield. Then I see the man. He was sitting real quiet.”
    I’ll bet he was, thought Collins—he was resting after bludgeoning Steve Ricks and heaving him aboard the boxcar. Not to mention hacking off his victim’s hands and knocking out the teeth … Funny, now that he thought about it. The murderer had gone to great lengths to hinder identification of the body, yet he had casually abandoned his victim’s car without troubling to remove the license plates or destroy the registration certificate. The madman theory again?
    Collins took his leave of Mrs. Menendez and pondered the matter. The situation was probably this: the identified corpse of Steve Ricks would have led to an investigation in which awkward disclosures might come to light. So it was necessary that the corpse be rendered unidentifiable. By putting it aboard a boxcar, it might even go undiscovered for two or three weeks.
    An automobile was more difficult to dispose of. Why hadn’t the murderer merely left the car in front of 982 Mulberry Street, where it might stand uninvestigated for weeks? Miscalculation? Carelessness? Panic? Probably something of the sort, thought Collins the murderer had completed his grisly work and wanted only to get back to the world of normalcy; he dropped it off in the first likely looking side street.
    The killer however, had neglected the check in Ricks’ shoe. He had also neglected another detail which might or might not link Ricks to Earl Genneman.
    Wilson had packed his gear and was waiting in the car. Collins joined him and they returned to headquarters.
    In his office Collins looked over the notes he had scribbled the day before. Certain questions had already been cleared up or checked out: items 5 and 6 for instance. The car had been located.
    In the meantime, Kalisher should have a report on Ricks’ boots. Collins called the laboratory and asked his question. Just as Kalisher was answering, Captain Bigelow appeared in the doorway, scowling.
    Collins waved him to a seat, listened to Kalisher’s report, then swung around to face his superior. “That was Kalisher. Steve Ricks is our man. He was up the trail, at least as far as Persimmon Lake. Did he kill Genneman? That I don’t know. So far there’s no sign of the shotgun. We can’t make a gunpowder check of his hands, because his hands are missing.”
    Bigelow nodded ponderously. “The question is, did Steve Ricks witness the murder and get killed because of it? Or did Ricks murder Genneman and get it out of revenge? Or was Ricks an accessory in the Genneman murder? Since there’s no link between Ricks and Genneman, it looks to me as if the first supposition is the one we want to hit hard—Ricks the innocent bystander.”
    â€œIt might well be,” said Collins. “I’ve got a few other ideas, Captain. In the first place, Steve Ricks wasn’t the sort to make a one-man